


easier to lose

by quiddative



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Hockey, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Background Acxa/Keith, Coming Out, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Getting Back Together, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Hockey Player!Shiro, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Light Angst, M/M, Past Adam/Shiro (Voltron), Secret Identity, Sexual Content, Sidney Crosby cameo - Freeform, Social Media, Temporary Break Up, college student!lance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-05 13:29:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 42,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16811572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quiddative/pseuds/quiddative
Summary: "It's easier to lose than to win." - Wayne GretzkyShiro is at the peak of his NHL career. Unfortunately, being famous has its downsides, particularly when it comes to dating. And that’s on top of the fact that he’s still in the closet.However, a chance meeting with college student Lance, who seems to be the only person in the entire city who doesn’t know who he is, gives him hope that maybe he won’t die alone after all. Just as long as he can keep his identity a secret.





	1. Preseason (September)

**Author's Note:**

> So what had happened was my historically terrible hockey team finally made it to the Stanley Cup playoffs two years in a row after an embarrassing defeat in 2013...only to get knocked out of the first round both times, and I decided to channel my disappointment into a Shance hockey AU, thus the birth of this extremely self-indulgent 40k~ monster.
> 
> I had an amazing time working on this with my artists [Midori](http://midori250.tumblr.com) and [Tried2](http://tried2.tumblr.com/), who were incredibly encouraging and enthusiastic! I also want to thank the mods of the Shance AU Bang for organizing this whole event and making it so much fun. Y'all deserve a (either alcoholic or non-alcoholic) drink of your choice.
> 
> This fic is complete and will be updated every other day as I finish polishing it. I'll also link to my lovely artists' work once they have been posted as well!
> 
> Finally, any knowledge about hockey is completely unnecessary to understand and hopefully enjoy the fic. With that, I hope you enjoy!

Shiro has to bite his lip against the laughter threatening to bubble out of his mouth as Keith, red-faced and more than a little drunk, does an eerily accurate impression of their former hardass of a GM before he was thankfully replaced by Coran.

“ _—and if we start letting you boys grow beards, then who knows what’s next? Skipping showers? Wearing sweatpants to games? We’ll be the laughing stock of the whole league!_ ” Keith intones. What really sells it is the dead-eyed look on his face, which is so terrifyingly similar to the one their old GM always sported that Shiro begins to wonder if he should perform an exorcist to make sure his teammate and best friend hasn’t been possessed.

“He really said that to Ulaz?” Shiro asks, snickering into his beer.

Normally, he’d be more careful about gossiping about team business in public but the combination of music and surrounding chatter in the bar is loud enough to drown out police sirens. Besides, they’ve still got a couple weeks left before the season starts, so he isn’t too worried about being overheard by the wrong people. It also helps that the bar he and Keith are currently in is at a slightly out of the way spot north of the downtown core.

Keith snorts. “Not only that, he said that to Ulaz while he was in the middle of his stick tape. _Before a game_.”

Shiro makes the appropriate noises of mock outrage. Interfering with their goalie’s pregame rituals is tantamount to committing a cardinal sin. He’s surprised that Ulaz hadn’t murdered the man right then and there.

But before he can say anything, his phone interrupts by vibrating in his jean pocket. He pulls it out to find Matt’s name glowing at him in the text message notification box.

> **Matt:** [IMAGE SENT]
> 
> **Matt:** heads up. you’ve got incoming

Shiro opens the first message to find a screenshot of someone’s Instagram post with a picture of him and Keith at the very bar they’re in right now. It was uploaded only a few minutes ago.

The caption reads, “ _IM SCREAMING ITS SHIRO AND KEITH!!!!_ ” A string of emojis and hashtags Shiro has no hope of deciphering follows.

And it already has a few hundred likes.

He makes a show of sipping his beer as he looks around for their intrepid photographer. He finds her easily—a woman about Keith’s age who is trying but absolutely failing to be inconspicuous as she aims her phone at him from the booth she’s in. Sitting opposite her are two other people, another woman and a man who look like they’re the same age as her.

“What’s up?” Keith asks.

Shiro gestures to the booth with a wry grin. “Looks like we’ve got company.”

Keith, bless him, doesn’t even bother pretending to be nonchalant as he makes direct eye contact with their fan and raises one thick eyebrow.

She actually squeaks and ducks her head in embarrassment. Her two friends stare at them with wide, deer-caught-in-the-headlights eyes, and Shiro has to purse his lips to keep from laughing.

“Do you want to say ‘hi’ to them or something?” Keith asks, sounding bored.

He must be in a good mood tonight. That, or the alcohol has hit him harder than Shiro first thought. Keith normally gets nervous when he has to interact with fans outside of games and PR events (and even then it’s limited to charity functions). It’s not that he doesn’t like them, because he does, but he has what Matt and Thace fondly refer to as the "social skills of a squid on dry land."

“Only if you want,” says Shiro, shrugging. He glances back at their audience of three, who are now outright staring at them. As far as fan encounters go, they look relatively tame in comparison to some of the crazier ones they’ve met in the past.

Keith turns back to their admirers and waves them over with a grin Shiro knows for a fact he spent hours perfecting before their team’s marketing people declared it media-ready.

Their fans all but leap out of their booth.

“Hi,” says Shiro, reaching out to shake their hands with his left hand. “I’m Shiro.”

They spend the next few seconds fumbling with their introductions, clearly unused to shaking with their left hands, but are polite enough. Thankfully, despite a few uneasy glances at Shiro’s stump, none of them actually comment on his missing prosthetic.

“Um,” the guy says timidly after a moment, “Would you mind taking a picture with us?” He bites his bottom lip as he holds his phone in front of him like a shield. He looks a little like Matt, only with an undercut.

 _Cute_ , Shiro thinks, just before carefully schooling his face back into a neutral expression. Their fans don’t _look_ rabid but Shiro isn’t stupid enough to think that means he’s completely safe from scrutiny.

Only Keith, Matt, his grandfather, and—of course—Adam know that he’s gay, and he intends to keep it that way for as long as possible.

“Sure,” he replies, taking the phone from the man—already conveniently set to selfie mode—and shuffling closer to Keith’s side while the trio crowds around them.

After taking a few pictures, their fans thank them for their time. “And good luck with this season!”

“Go Defenders go!”

Once they’ve returned to their seats, Keith turns to Shiro with a knowing look. “So, that guy was pretty cute.”

“Yep,” says Shiro, popping the ‘p’, but doesn’t elaborate.

“He seems nice enough,” Keith prods.

Shiro just barely refrains from sighing. He knows that Keith, despite his infamous ‘lone wolf’ persona, has an endearing overprotective streak a mile wide when it comes to the people he cares about and is just trying to help in his own way.

“Yeah, there’s just one problem,” he replies. “He’s probably straight.” _And I will never just be ‘Shiro’ to him._

Then, as if on cue, Shiro’s phone vibrates again. Matt’s sent another image, which turns out to be a screenshot of another Instagram post. The picture is none other than their group selfie with the caption, “ _p sure the gf and i are never washing our hands ever again!!_ ” It’s been less than five minutes and the post is well on its way to a hundred likes.

Shiro wordlessly hands his phone over to Keith, who snorts. “Okay, fine, maybe not _this_ one then. But there are plenty of fish in the sea, right?” Keith says it awkwardly, like he’s repeating something someone else told him. Shiro is willing to bet that someone was Matt.

He doesn’t respond, humming noncommittally instead.

Keith isn’t necessarily _wrong_ but Shiro’s been burned enough times, first by Adam and later by his own rising career, to risk taking any chances simply because of a cute face.

(The irony of what unfolds in the next few days is not lost on him.)

* * *

It’s five o’clock when Shiro leaves for the gym the next morning. He bumps into his next-door neighbour Ezor and her borzoi on their way out for a run. “Good luck with the season,” the pink-haired woman chirps, her smile all teeth.

Shiro thanks her and, when he exits the building, is greeted by a brisk autumn morning.

Once, when he was very little, he associated it with the leaves changing colour, his mom dragging him clothes shopping, and Thanksgiving dinners with his grandparents. Now, as an almost thirty-year-old, he can only associate the season with training camp and the building anticipation that always accompanies the start of a new season.

The parking lot is empty save for two cars and that is just fine with him. Even though it is still the offseason, he doesn’t want to take the risk of bumping into people who will recognize him if he can help it. And if that includes, in Matt’s words, ‘getting up at ass o’clock while on vacation to put his muscles through hell instead of golfing like a normal person,’ then so be it.

He nods at the lone employee at the desk, a powerlifter called Zethrid who is even taller than Shiro. He both admires and fears her.

The only other person in the gym is currently occupied at the treadmills. Shiro can’t see his face but he allows himself a few seconds to admire the man’s figure. He’s tall, almost as tall as Shiro, and has surprisingly broad shoulders for how lithe he is. He’s even leaner than Keith, who constantly gets chirped for being thinner than his own hockey stick, but Shiro can see strong muscles on his arms and legs underneath his loose pink tank top and leggings with the words ‘University of Washington’ going down both sides.

 _Get it together, Shirogane_. He shakes his head and makes his way to the squat rack for his first set.

Then he catches the other man’s face halfway through his third set and nearly drops the bar. Oh hell, the guy is _gorgeous_. He has soft curly brown hair and the smoothest skin Shiro has ever seen. His chin and cheekbones look sharp enough to cut glass and, for a fraction of a second, Shiro seriously considers brushing his fingers over those cheeks, just to see if they really can draw blood.

But it’s the guy’s smile on heart-shaped lips that enthralls Shiro and traps him where he stands. It’s a trickster’s smile, one that whispers, _Don’t blink, something incredible is about to happen_.

It reminds Shiro of the stories his mom used to tell him about _kitsune_ that led travelers astray. _I wouldn’t mind getting lost as long as I’m with him_ , Shiro thinks.

He spends the next half hour going through his usual routine and only sneaks three more glances at the guy, which he personally thinks demonstrates a godlike amount of self-control. _Take that, Kolivan_ , he thinks smugly to the team’s coach.

He’s about to move on to the bench press when the guy suddenly makes his way towards him with a smirk and a determined gleam in his eyes. Shiro’s stomach drops.

He’s been recognized.

He pastes his media-friendly smile on and steels himself for the inevitable fanboy session.

“Hey, do you need a spotter?”

_What?_

“Uh,” says Shiro eloquently.

The guy’s smirk widens and gestures to the bench. “I mean, not that you look like you need one—being an Adonis and all—but I figured I’d offer, you know? That way, I won’t feel completely useless when I ask you to spot me once you’re done with your set.”

_Being an Adonis and all._

“Um, sure.” Shiro can’t stop staring at the guy. His eyes are still glimmering with a sharpness that Shiro _knows_ he should be wary of but, at the same time, can’t help being curious about.

But there’s no hint of recognition in them and Shiro, against every rule he set for himself since he got drafted ten years ago, starts to let himself hope. _He doesn’t know who I am._

Seattle is nowhere near the hockey-obsessed hub that cities like Toronto and Boston are, but in the last two years since he signed with the Defenders, Shiro tends to get recognized more often than not. And not just as the team’s captain, but also as the only player in the NHL with such a visible disability. It seems impossible that he’s found the one person in the entire city who doesn’t know who he is but he’s not about to look a gift puck in the net.

He doesn’t realize he’s still standing there until the guy raises a thin, perfectly plucked brow at him. “Do you want to start or should I?”

 _You are the most useless gay_ , a voice that sounds eerily like Adam snickers in Shiro’s head. His cheeks burn as he scrambles onto the bench and gets into position. He swallows when the guy takes his spot by Shiro’s head and smiles down at him.

“Ready?”

Shiro nods and wordlessly begins his set.

They have to remove some of the heavier weights when it’s the other guy’s turn but their sets otherwise continue without a hitch.

There is a moment, though, when Shiro briefly forgets where he is because he gets too distracted by the way the strain in the guy’s shoulders makes his chest expand and the sweat running down his arms makes his golden brown skin _glow_. Shiro wonders what his skin would taste like and instantly wants to slam his head against the wall.

“Thanks for your help,” says the guy after re-racking the bar. He sits up, turns to straddle the bench, folds his arms over the bar, and tilts his head up to meet Shiro’s gaze. Shiro has never seen someone look so sexy with so little effort, which is saying something, considering he’s friends with Tyler “extra as fuck thirst trap extraordinaire” Seguin. “My name’s Lance, by the way.”

He holds his hand out for Shiro to shake—his _right_ hand.

Shiro hesitantly grips it but Lance doesn’t even blink at his prosthetic. His handshake is firm and steady.

“It’s nice to meet you, Lance,” says Shiro, trying not to stammer too much.

If the team’s marketing staff was here, they’d probably be crying in despair.

"So, do I get a name as well or am I supposed to just call you Tall, Dark, and Handsome?" Lance smiles sweetly at him. "I mean, it's alright with me, but it's a bit of a mouthful, you know?"

Shiro is hopelessly, utterly charmed. "Well, if you insist. I'm Takashi—"

_...Shirogane. You know, the hockey player?_

Shiro immediately snaps his big fat mouth shut. It might have been a while since his last foray in the dating game but he remembers how this goes. Lance will almost certainly Google him when he gets home, inevitably find out who Shiro is, and then either get weirded out and ghost Shiro, or become too enamoured with his celebrity status to treat him like a normal human being ever again.

Honestly, Shiro doesn't know which is worse.

"Takashi Ryusaki," he blurts out, clawing for the first name that pops into his head...which ends up becoming his mother's maiden name.

“Oh, so like Kakashi but with a ‘T’?”

It takes Shiro a second to process Lance’s reply and once he does he has to bite his tongue to keep from laughing. “Did you just make a _Naruto_ reference?”

Lance winks at him and another arrow pierces Shiro’s heart. “Yeah, but you’re the one who caught it.”

Shiro gasps and slaps his hand against his chest in mock horror. “You mean there are actually people out there who _don’t_?”

“Right?” Lance laughs unabashedly and the sound sends a blaze of warmth through Shiro’s body.

 _You can’t let him go_ , Shiro’s brain whispers urgently. Sure, Lance is gorgeous as hell but he also seems to share Shiro’s weird sense of humour, as hard as that is to believe, which automatically earns him a spot in Shiro’s good books. But there’s also something about the way he’s looking at Shiro right now that suddenly grips him with the overwhelming and greedy _need_ to keep that gaze on him forever.

He has no illusions about what caught Lance’s attention in the first place; Shiro knows he’s attractive, even with the hideous scar across his nose and the stark white hair in his fringe that he spent part of his teenage years and a good part of his adulthood coming to terms with. But there’s something else in Lance’s gaze, something beyond superficial attraction.

He’s looking at Shiro like he has a secret he’s dying to share—just between the two of them.

And Shiro desperately wants to know what it is.

“So,” Lance clears his throat, “hypothetically, how would you feel if I asked you for your number?”

Shiro can almost feel his rib cage shudder from the way his heart has started beating so intensely against it. “Hypothetically, I wouldn’t mind at all,” he somehow manages to say.

Lance’s grin widens. “In that case, can I get your number?” he asks, practically in sing-song.

 _God, yes._ Shiro laughs and accepts the other man’s phone. “Only if you give me yours, too.”

He winks and tries not to feel too smug when a lovely shade of rosy pink blooms across Lance’s cheeks.

He fails.

* * *

Two days later, Shiro cuts the engine of his car, leans back in his seat, and assesses the boardgame cafe Lance picked for their date.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t relieved when, after looking up the address, it turned out that the cafe is in Bellevue, a satellite city bordering on the suburbs. That means there will be fewer people around compared to the wild beast that is Seattle, which hopefully means Shiro’s chances of getting recognized will be lower. It’s also currently eleven o’clock on a Sunday morning and if there’s one thing Shiro has learned after living in three different countries, it’s that very few people (or very few _sane_ people who don’t have the misfortune of working in the service industry, really) are going to actually be awake, much less fully cognizant, around this time.

Sure, Seattle might have its slightly higher than average share of weirdly obsessive brunchers but Shiro’s pretty sure that even his fellow non-professional hockey playing millennials have a limit and that limit is “post-Saturday hangovers.”

On the other hand, suburbs also mean families—families that regularly go to games. Shiro might not get recognized by the typical fare of college students and teenage girls here but enthusiastic small children and their even more enthusiastic parents are another matter entirely.

His phone buzzes and he pulls it out, helpless against the grin that sneaks up on him when he reads Lance’s text.

> **Lance:** hey handsome, im at the intersection so i should be there in about 2 min ;)
> 
> **Lance:** and you better be there or else!!
> 
> **Lance:** ...ok that sounded threatening and i didnt mean it like that lskdfjls JUST IGNORE MY LAST TEXT

Shiro doesn’t laugh but his grin widens at Lance’s antics, as has been the norm for the past day and a half. He doesn’t know why but Lance seems to have made it his mission to make Shiro laugh as much as possible ever since he gave the other man his number, and so far, he’s been incredibly successful. The cynical part of Shiro, which sounds like a terrifying combination of Adam and Kolivan’s voices, whispers that this could very possibly be an act but Shiro’s instincts tell him it’s not.

> **Me:** Darn, looks like you’re too late. I’m already here
> 
> **Lance:** o thank beyonce, i was afraid i scared you there
> 
> **Me:** Ha, it’ll take more than that to scare me off

It isn’t exactly a lie because Shiro’s faced much bigger and more terrifying opponents in his career, but he’s not too bullheaded to deny that the roiling storm in his stomach is anything other than nervousness. He hasn’t been on a date in years, though it feels more like decades, let alone one that ended well since the disaster with Adam.

He really, truly wants this one to go well.

He catches Lance’s car, a beat up grey Subaru, pull into the parking lot a minute later, and forces himself to breathe. _Come on, Shirogane, you can do this._ He jams his worn Toronto Blue Jays baseball cap on and climbs out of his car.

Lance spots him immediately and, even with two cars between them, his whole face visibly lights up with a smile. Shiro doesn’t swoon but it’s a close thing.

“Takashi! Were you waiting long?” Lance asks as he jogs over to him.

Shiro shakes his head. “I just got here myself,” he says easily, letting the white lie slip through. Somehow, he doesn’t think ‘I’ve actually been sitting in my car for the last ten minutes because I was too chicken to go in by myself’ is something anyone wants to hear on a first date no matter how laid back they are.

It immediately becomes clear to Shiro that Lance has been here before when he leads them inside and greets the first server they see by name and asks her how she’s been. As they wait to be seated, a few other staff members stop by to say hello to Lance. Shiro can’t help but compare them to magnets helplessly drawn to the North Pole because he sort of feels the same way himself as he watches Lance chat with so many people with seemingly no effort at all.

There’s a little bit of jealousy there, he’ll admit, because he always feels like he’s just barely scraping through media days by the skin of his teeth, but the rest of it is warm admiration. He’s been around the media long enough that he can at least tell when someone’s being fake or genuine, and Lance’s entire body is emitting nothing but pure sincerity.

When it’s finally their turn to be seated, Shiro pulls down the brim of his baseball cap to hide his face as surreptitiously as possible. Thankfully, Lance is more preoccupied with snagging a couple of board games from the shelves they pass to notice.

Once they’re at their booth, their server winks at Shiro. “Normally, this would be when I’d give you the spiel about the house rules here at _Mox_ but I know you’ll be in good hands with our Lance.”

“Is that so?” Shiro asks, cheekily raising a brow at Lance from under his cap. On a whim, he tests the waters even further. “Do I get a refund if things go horribly wrong?”

Lance lets out an exaggerated gasp and slaps his hand over his chest. Their server laughs, “Sure, why not? And just for that, your first drink’s on the house.”

Once she leaves with their orders, Lance turns to Shiro with a coy grin on his face that does _things_ to Shiro.

He clears his throat. “So, ‘our Lance’?”

Lance chuckles and rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, I used to work here when I first moved here for school. Then I got a part-time job at the aquarium, which practically sucks up all my time when I’m not in class, but I try to come out here as much as possible.”

“The aquarium?”

Shiro learns two things at that moment: one—Lance’s eyes are robin egg blue, and two—they get this gorgeous, almost breathtaking shine when he becomes passionate about something.

Lance seamlessly falls into what Shiro suspects is his ‘storyteller’ mode as he delves into more detail about his job (“Not to toot my own horn, but you’re looking at the aquarium’s handsomest and best tour guide,” Lance boasts, to which Shiro teases, “Is he modest, too?”), then about why he got the job in the first place (“When you’re majoring in marine biology, your options are kind of limited.” Shiro thinks he can kind of understand, considering he had to drop out of high school when he started playing in the AHL.), and finally about his classes.

“Don’t get me wrong, Cuba is great,” says Lance earnestly, “but I wanted to get away from it a bit, you know? Do my own thing without having to worry about my family being aware of my every move.”

Shiro doesn’t know but he nods anyway. “So, why Seattle?”

“Well, I knew I wanted to be near the ocean, so it had to be either the East or West Coast.” Lance smirks, “In the end, you know what they say, _West Coast is_ —”

“— _best coast_ ,” Shiro finishes, laughing along with Lance.

It’s so painfully easy to fall into the cadence and rhythm of Lance’s chocolate-smooth voice as he shares all these wonderful anecdotes about himself that it almost doesn’t occur to Shiro that he’s expected to do the same until Lance eagerly leans forward, pinning him in place with a cute, eager smile.

“Anyway, that’s enough about me, what about you?” he asks, steepling his delicate and long fingers together for his chin to rest on.

“Uh, what about me?” Shiro stammers out.

“Well, to start with, do you _always_ go to the gym at five o’clock on a _Friday morning_ or are you just going through a premature midlife crisis?”

Before Shiro’s far more mature brain can stop him, he’s already sticking his tongue out at Lance, who simply grins back, delighted. It took _months_ before Shiro had been comfortable enough to josh around with Matt and Keith—his _own teammates_ —like this but Lance’s very presence seems to have the ability to disarm all his hard-won barriers like they’re nothing.

He’s just so confident and warm—Shiro is totally, absolutely helpless against his spell.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he retorts.

“I finish work at six and didn’t want to go to the gym in the evening,” Lance replies smoothly. “Your turn.”

 _I didn’t want to run the risk of getting recognized by someone and bombarded with requests for selfies and autographs_ , Shiro thinks.

“Yeah, same,” he says instead, shrugging. “I’m a contractor and my hours tend to be all over the place, so I prefer working out in the mornings if I can.” It’s technically not a bald-faced lie. He _is_ on a contract and, on game days, his hours are more of the five-to-midnight variety than the nine-to-five kind (and that’s if he doesn’t count morning practices).

Lance whistles, impressed. “What kind of work do you do?”

“Just...uh, some military stuff,” Shiro mumbles, throwing out the first thing that comes to mind.

Luckily, he has enough relatives who are actually in the military that he’s able to bullshit through some of Lance’s more specific questions about his ‘work’ but it’s still a painful experience.

“I have to travel a lot, too, but it means I get to visit my grandfather and other relatives fairly regularly. And it’s all paid for by my employer, so I can’t really complain too much,” he explains.

“Whoa, yeah, that’s really cool. What about your parents?”

Shiro freezes.

For half a heartbeat, he could swear that he can smell the interior of his parents’ car again: the heavy, overwhelming pine scent of the air freshener mixed in with the leather seats. He catches the sickly orange glare of a streetlight through the window—the last thing he saw before his senses become consumed with his parents’ screams, tire rubber shrieking against the ice, the screech of metal colliding with metal, and then nothing.

It’s been over ten years and, while some of the details of that night have thankfully faded from memory, others seem to grow more vivid every year.

Lance’s sharp eyes don’t miss the way his shoulders suddenly go taut. “Sorry, we don’t have to talk about them if you don’t want to,” Lance says softly. He sounds like he really means it, too.

It’s the first time someone has given Shiro the option of _not_ talking about the night that changed his life in _years_.

It’s refreshing and Shiro is so embarrassingly touched by it.

“No, it’s fine,” says Shiro. He gazes at his hands, both his left one and the cold prosthetic that now makes up his right one. “They...They died when I was sixteen.”

He doesn’t look up when he hears Lance suck in his breath but keeps going, pushed by the urge to get all the words out as quickly as he can. “They were driving me back from a game.” A hockey game—his OHL debut, in fact. “We hit a patch of black ice and…” _And I couldn’t do anything._

He takes a deep shuddering breath. “Anyway, that’s also how I lost my arm, and got the scar and hair.” He raises his prosthetic in demonstration, clenching and unclenching the fist. He’s come to—well, maybe not _love_ it, but accept it as a part of himself over the years. He knows that if it weren’t for his grandfather, his career would have been over before it had really begun.

He feels warm hands grasp his and finally lifts his head to meet Lance’s gaze. There is some pity in his eyes but, more than that, there is admiration. “I’m sorry you had to go through that, but I’m sure they’re proud of you,” Lance tells him, his voice as soft as his eyes.

Shiro can feel himself starting to fall—hook, line, and sinker.

* * *

Shiro doesn’t know what he did in his past life to deserve this, but Lance, for some reason, doesn’t get scared off by his downer of a story. He effortlessly steers the conversation back to happier topics and patiently teaches him how to play some of the board games that the cafe has to offer.

Shiro almost forgets that he is even on a date instead of a normal day out with a friend, because something about Lance makes it stupidly easy for him to just be himself. There are a few instances where he catches other customers staring at him from the corners of his eyes, but thankfully, none of them approach him. He tucks the brim of his cap down anyway.

It’s not until the alarm on Shiro’s phone rings—reminding him that he has a dinner meeting with Kolivan, Coran, and some of his teammates—that he even realizes that they’ve been at the cafe for _hours_. He silences his alarm and apologetically explains that he has errands to run.

Lance waves him off and lets out a deep sigh, “Yeah, I should probably go, too. I still have to get this week’s grocery shopping done.”

Their date finally hits its first and only snag when the bill comes, which results in a brief argument over who should pay it.

“I’m the one who asked you out, so I should pay it,” Lance protests, slapping a small wad of bills on the table.

Their server takes a deliberate step back and watches them, amused.

Shiro gingerly places his credit card on the table. “Lance, you’re a college student,” he counters, “I can’t let you pay for me when I’m the one with a full-time job.”

“ _Or_ you can get the bill on our next date,” says Lance just a little _too_ casually to be so. “I mean, if you haven’t gotten sick of me already.”

Shiro’s heart thrums furiously against his ribcage. “The next date?” he echoes, a hopeful tone spilling through his voice.

Lance’s eyes dart away sheepishly. “Yeah, how’s that sound?” He doesn’t sound scared, exactly, but there is a raw vulnerability in his voice that instantly melts something within Shiro.

He slowly returns his card to his wallet. “Yeah, I’d like that. I’d really like that.”

He laughs when Lance punches the air and lets out a loud whoop that earns them a few glares.

God, he already can’t _wait_ for their next date.

* * *

_**New Defenders GM Coran Smythe sits down with Lotor Zarkonson to discuss players and the playoffs.** _

**The Defenders are entering their third year in the league. After making it to the playoffs two years in a row, what do you think about your chances this year?**

**Smythe:** I think our chances are pretty strong. The evidence sort of speaks for itself, doesn’t it? We’ve put together a very strong team and many of our players are still growing. Now, I’m not one to count my platypuses before they hatch but I don’t think I’m too far off when I say that the third time might be the charm.

**That’s quite a bold statement to make. Are there any particular reasons that make you think that?**

**Smythe:** Yes, and his name is Takashi Shirogane. [Laughs] But no, like I said, we have a great team and Shiro’s leadership is only a part of it. Even though we’ve got a few veterans like Ulaz and Thace, everyone’s aware that we’re still the “baby” team and they’re all chomping at the bits to prove themselves. Especially some of the younger players like Keith and James. They’re quite keen on getting their hands on the Cup.

**Speaking of whom, what is the projection for a rookie like Kogane and a unique player like Shirogane?**

**Smythe:** We were very excited to pick Keith in the first round because he has the kind of talent you only see once in a generation. The great thing about him is he still has a ways to go and we are all looking forward to seeing how he will grow as both a person and a player.

And Shiro—I think you can expect even greater things from him than we had seen last year. He’s nowhere near the oldest player on our team but, after the hardships he’s been through, he’s sort of become a father to his men. [Laughs] Although, I think he would prefer to be seen as more of a “big brother”. Anyway, he’s been through a lot of things that most players in the NHL would never experience, and I think it’s given him a drive to always do better, no matter how many records he’s already broken.

**You mean being the first disabled Asian player in the NHL isn’t enough for him?**

**Smythe:** Oh, not at all. He’s just getting started!


	2. Start of Season (October)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Takashi doesn’t use social media.”
> 
> At that, both Pidge and Hunk stare at Lance like he just announced that he’s going to drop out of school and join a flat earth cult. “No social media? At all?” Pidge croaks, eyes bugging out hilariously.
> 
> “Not even Facebook?” Hunk asks in an awed voice. “Who is this man? Nay, what is he?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lsdkjfksldf thank you so much for all the feedback last chapter, everyone!! they really meant a lot to me and I'm so glad to know that there are other people who enjoy this concept.
> 
> anyway, this chapter will contain smut in the end so I hope you enjoy~

Lance’s phone buzzes loudly and he’s already grinning before he even unlocks it. Hunk and Pidge are with him in the library, and he already Skyped his family yesterday, which means the only person who could possibly be texting him right now is… 

> **Takashi <3:** When I die I want to be buried in a tub of ice

> **Takashi <3:** It’s almost November why is it 90F

Lance doesn’t even realize he’s snorting until one of the students at the next table pointedly clears their throat. Their table mates glare daggers at him.

“Ooh, busted,” Pidge snickers quietly.

Lance ignores her and, after waving apologetically at their neighbours, turns his attention back to his phone.

> **Me:** youre in Arizona now right? ofc its hot its where the devil lives

> **Takashi <3:** Please kill me now, I don’t deserve this

> **Me:** how about you get your big beautiful butt back here first and then we can talk about what kind of death you want

Lance waits exactly ten seconds before adding,

> **Me:** including little ones ;-)

A balled up piece of paper hits him straight in the forehead, startling him. He glares at Pidge, who doesn’t even bother pretending she wasn’t the culprit. Hunk just sighs and lowers his head behind his laptop, like if he tries hard enough he’ll actually be able to disappear.

“What the crow was that for?” Lance hisses at Pidge.

“You looked like you were about to start drooling, so I did you a favour,” says Pidge, voice as dry and flat as the desert. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“I was not—”

“ _Ahem._ ”

The three of them whip their heads up to find themselves under the stern gaze of the librarian. If looks could kill, Lance has no doubt they’d be nothing more than a pile of smoldering ashes by now. “By all means, continue your _riveting_ conversation,” she drawls. “But if you continue to disturb your neighbours, then may I suggest removing yourselves to the nearest Starbucks instead?”

It isn’t a suggestion.

They murmur apologies as they scramble to pack their things as quickly as possible without making an even bigger racket than they already have. As soon as they’re out the doors of the library, they each let out a loud sigh of relief.

“I want it on record that this was all Lance’s fault,” Pidge declares.

“How was it my fault? It’s not like I was actually talking on my phone, I was just texting!”

“And giggling like you were back in high school,” Hunk says unhelpfully.

Lance glares at his best friend over the top of Pidge’s head. “I wasn’t _giggling_!”

“Oh, you absolutely _were_ giggling. You’ve _been_ giggling every time you’ve gotten a text from Hot Gym Guy for the past month and a half,” says Pidge.

Lance opens his mouth to retort but, at the look that Pidge gives him, he shuts it. Instead, he shoves his hands into his pockets and mumbles to his shoes, “His name’s Takashi.”

Pidge whistles while Hunk lets out a squeal. “Ooh, are we finally getting a name?”

Lance rolls his eyes at his friends’ antics even as he tries to will the oncoming blush away from his cheeks. He can’t help it—just _thinking_ about Takashi is enough to make him want to smile like an idiot in one of his sister’s favourite romcoms. “It’s not that big of a deal,” he says.

Suddenly, Hunk snatches his phone out of his pocket with inhuman speed and unlocks it. “Um, excuse me, but it kind of is.” After opening Lance’s texts, he shoves the phone right into his face like he’s presenting some sort of smoking gun in court. “This guy went from being _Step On Me eggplant emoji_ to _Takashi heart emoji_ in less than two months,” he points out. “Only one person’s ever gotten to the heart emoji stage and that was Nyma in sophomore year—and that ended after only one month. This isn’t just a big deal, my friend, this is an _occasion_.”

 _Hunk is a filthy traitor and I should never have sung karaoke with him at frosh week_ , Lance thinks, but only half-heartedly, as he snatches his phone back. “We’ve just been taking it slow,” he tells them.

And he’s not even lying! If Lance had it his way, he and Takashi would have at least made it to third base _weeks_ ago. But with Takashi’s contract work seemingly taking him all over the country and Lance’s workload piling up between his job and the chaos that is senior year of college, they’ve only gone on two more dates since the first one and barely made it to second base.

Lance has never been this desperate for one person’s touch before, so sue him for getting excited whenever he and Takashi get the rare chance to talk while Takashi’s away.

“‘Slow’ is one way to put it,” Pidge snorts, adjusting her glasses. “You haven’t even added him on any of your socials yet and I’m still not entirely convinced you didn’t just make him up after being single for so long.”

If Lance hadn’t known Pidge for as long as he has, he might have been freaked out by her FBI-level knowledge about his internet activity, but they’re so far past that point in their friendship that he simply accepts it as her weird way of showing she cares. “First of all, I was only single for a month and resent the implication that I’m so unused to not being a relationship that I would crack that easily. Secondly, Takashi doesn’t use social media.”

At that, both Pidge and Hunk stare at him like he just announced that he’s going to drop out of school and join a flat earth cult. “No social media? _At all?_ ” Pidge croaks, eyes bugging out hilariously.

“Not even Facebook?” Hunk asks in an awed voice. “Who _is_ this man? Nay, _what_ is he?”

Lance shrugs nonchalantly. “He’s just a really private person, that’s all.”

“You could also say that about serial killers,” says Pidge, raising a challenging eyebrow at him.

Lance meets it with one of his own, unflinching. “Well, considering we’ve been going out for almost two months and he hasn’t killed me yet despite having _plenty_ of chances to, I think we can safely rule that out.”

“Did you actually Google him to see if he was telling the truth or did you just take his word for it?” Hunk interjects, sounding genuinely worried.

“Hunk, what do you take me for? Of course I looked him up.”

And found absolutely nothing. Oh sure, there were plenty of Takashi Ryusakis around world and even a few in Seattle, but none of them were _his_ Takashi.

He thought about asking Takashi about it on their last two dates but chickened out at the last minute. He doesn’t get the feeling that Takashi is actively lying to him, just that he’s someone who values his privacy a lot.

 _Or maybe you don’t want to ask in case it turns out he is lying_ , a part of Lance’s brain taunts.

Lance quickly stomps down on that thought but knows he can’t deny it. He’s never liked anyone as much as he likes Takashi, nor has he ever wanted a relationship to work out so badly.

Well, ‘relationship’ might be too strong a word since they haven’t actually had _that_ talk yet. In fact, Lance is planning to bring it up on their date tomorrow night.

Pidge and Hunk share a look that contains paragraphs. Eventually, Hunk sighs and squeezes Lance’s shoulder. “Just be careful, okay? And bring him around some time so we can actually meet him and put a face to the name.”

“And interrogate him,” Pidge chirps.

To Hunk, Lance says, “He’s picking me up for our date tomorrow, so you can meet him then.” He narrows his eyes at Pidge. “ _But_ there will absolutely be _no_ interrogations, Katie Rebecca Holt.”

“We’ll see about that—”

Pidge gets cut off by a very pointed buzzing from her phone, effectively ending the discussion in Lance’s favour.

(Yeah, Lance may be a lot of things, but being too proud to take his victories where he can is not one of them.)

Pidge checks her phone and her eyes light up at whatever notification is on her screen. “Oops, I almost forgot that Matt’s playing tonight. Sorry, I gotta head off now if I want to make it to my parents’ in time. We’re having tacos for dinner.”

Sometimes, it’s easy to forget that Pidge, a computer science genius who graduated high school two years early, is related to a professional athlete. It’s not something she likes to broadcast; in fact, Lance and Hunk only found that out a few days after moving in together during their second year of college.

She even tried to explain the rules to them once but, while Hunk seems to actually show interest in the sport, it sounds a little too violent for Lance’s tastes.

“Again? Didn’t his team just have a game last night?” asks Lance, ignoring Hunk’s dreamy sigh, “Oh man, I could really go for some tacos right now.”

Pidge rolls her eyes fondly at him. “Yes, they’re playing again because that’s _their job_.” She adjusts her glasses. “One day I’ll drag you to a game and then you’ll finally appreciate hockey for the noble sport that it is.”

Lance laughs. “Maybe, but I’ll stick to baseball for now.”

* * *

> **Takashi <3:** Please kill me now, I don’t deserve this

> **Me:** how about you get your big beautiful butt back here first and then we can talk about what kind of death you want

> **Me:** including little ones ;-)

> **Takashi <3:** Oh mygod

> **Takashi <3:** Lance, you’re already killing me

> **Me:** not too quickly i hope

> **Me:** what’s the point of going to the gym all the time if your stamina’s still shit?

> **Takashi <3:** We’ll see whose stamina needs more work when I get back

Warmth rapidly creeps up Lance’s cheeks from his neck and a wide grin stretches across his lips of its own accord as he rereads Takashi’s texts for what must be the hundredth time. At least.

This is by no means the first time he’s sexted someone—hell, he doesn’t think this even counts as sexting—but it’s the first time the other party has flustered him so much. It’s usually the other way around!

Maybe it’s because Takashi, for all that he looks like someone who belongs in a homoerotic Renaissance painting, is such a genuinely a nice person that whenever Lance gets him within spitting distances of dirty talk, the heat behind his words _scalds_ in a way that none of Lance’s previous girlfriends or boyfriends’ come-ons had ever come close to.

Whether it’s in person or through text, there is a solid weight in everything Takashi says. He’s not throwing random words out just get Lance hot and bothered (which, admittedly, is something Lance himself has done in the past). He really means every word he says.

And that? Lance has no idea how he’s supposed to deal with that. All he knows is that Takashi never fails to make something in his chest tighten wonderfully and he’s quickly becoming addicted to the feeling.

The doorbell rings. Considering that it’s now six in the evening, it can only be one person.

Hunk seems to realize this as well because Lance suddenly hears the sound of dishes clattering into the sink, which signals that he’s dropped whatever he’s doing in the kitchen, followed by him bellowing, “I’ll get it!”

Lance watches in horror as Hunk practically _flies_ to the front door, a disturbingly eager grin on his face.

“Don’t you dare!” he shrieks, scrambling off the living room couch after him.

But Hunk reaches the front door first and eagerly wrenches it open. Takashi is standing on the front porch of their rental in a pair of jeans that show off well-sculpted thighs, a grey henley that stretches _beautifully_ across his chest, and a well-worn black leather jacket with the right sleeve pinned up.

Even with that baseball cap he apparently loves so much, the man is seemingly incapable of being anything but gorgeous.

“Hi there!” Hunk greets him brightly— _too_ brightly. He has a wide shark-like grin on his face that Lance is intimately familiar with. It’s the one he always wears when he’s sizing up his prey and considering how much teeth he should use. “You must be Takashi! Lance has told us _so much_ about you. I’m Hunk, Lance’s roommate and best friend since freshman year.” The unspoken, ‘aka the person whose approval has just become your number one priority if you want to get past this threshold any time this century,’ hangs between them like a precarious pendulum.

Takashi isn’t wearing his prosthetic tonight but Hunk is undeterred by it because he thrusts his left hand out in a manner that leaves no room for refusal. Takashi shoots Lance a nervous look over Hunk’s shoulder but dutifully grips his hand. “Uh, it’s nice to meet you, Hunk—”

“Hmm, good solid handshake,” Hunk interrupts. He casts an appraising look at Takashi’s figure. “And you’re on time, too. So far, so good.” He folds his arms, deliberately flexing his impressive biceps. “Alright, I’ll cut to the chase, Hot Gym Guy: what are your intentions towards Lance?”

“Oh god,” Lance groans, slapping his palm over his forehead. Lance has never wanted to eject himself into outer space as much as he does right this second. “Hunk, you _really_ don’t have to do this.”

The confusion in Takashi’s eyes dissipate as the man finally catches on and his eyes even twinkle with amusement.

“Well, for the short term, my intention is to take Lance out on a date, one that he’ll hopefully enjoy,” says Takashi. He winks and Lance can feel his heart rattle against his ribs like there’s a goddamned flock of birds in there, nevermind _butterflies_. “As for the long term…” he smiles sheepishly and the action is so endearing that Lance has to actually clench his fists to keep from pushing Hunk out of the way so he can kiss him silly. “...I’m not sure, but I’d really like to keep dating him and see where this goes.”

Hunk squints up at Takashi for a few agonizing seconds before suddenly beaming at him. “Welcome to the family, Takashi.”

Takashi grins, looking genuinely pleased. “It’s an honour to be here.” There isn’t a hint of mockery in his tone, not like there was in Nyma’s voice when Lance brought her over for what ended up being the first and last time. Judging by the approving look Hunk shoots Lance from over his shoulder, he remembers that moment just as well.

Takashi reaches down and holds up a large paper bag that had been sitting by his feet. “And I brought gifts.”

Hunk’s eyes widen. “Well, why didn’t you say so in the first place? Presents are always welcome here!” He finally steps aside to let Takashi in.

Takashi smiles shyly at Lance. “These are for you.” He presents him with a gorgeous bouquet of blue and lilac hydrangeas.

 _How are you real_ , Lance wonders as he gently takes the bouquet in his hands, shivering when their fingers brush against each other. “Thanks, Takashi! I love them.”

“I-I’m glad. They—uh, reminded me of your eyes.”

Hummingbirds—Lance has hummingbirds in his stomach. “I-I’ll take your word for it,” he murmurs, clutching the bouquet closer against his chest to hide the lower half of his face behind the hydrangeas. Damn it, he can’t stop _smiling_ and it’s all Takashi’s fault!

Takashi turns to Hunk and takes another item out of the bag, which turns out to be a pot of dirt wrapped in plastic. “Um, I remember Lance mentioning that you’ve been trying to grow more things in your garden, so I hope you don’t mind that I got you a cherry tomato plant.” He presents it to Hunk like it’s an offering to a temperamental god.

Hunk instantly grabs it and hugs it close to his body like it’s a human child. “Dude, I will _never_ mind getting more plant babies! Especially ones I can cook. Thanks, man.”

Takashi takes out another pot from his bag. “And I got a Venus flytrap for your roommate—Pidge, right?”

“Did you stop by the garden center before coming here or something?” Lance teases, taking the pot with his free hand.

Takashi laughs but pointedly doesn’t deny that. “Well, I figured I should get something for everyone while I was getting your flowers. Based on what you told me about Pidge, this was the best thing I could find for her.”

“Oh, she’ll definitely love it,” says Hunk, eying the tiny creepy mouths of the Venus flytrap with interest. “She has a group project due tomorrow but her partner bailed at the last minute, which is why she’s stuck in the lab now instead of here.”

Lance snickers. The furious pterodactyl-like screech that erupted from Pidge’s room when she found out—through _Snapchat_ of all things—just before she tore out of the house had been glorious. “I’ll drop it off in her room and then we can head out,” he says.

He hands his bouquet over to Hunk, trusting him to put it in some water, and shoots Takashi a smile before heading upstairs to Pidge’s room. He sets it down on her desk, scrawls a short note to let her know where it came from, and pops into the bathroom to check his hair and clothes one last time.

He looks good enough to eat, if he does say so himself—what, with his hair artfully tousled like he just rolled out of bed, his second tightest pair of black jeans that he’s been told makes his butt look like it belongs in a museum, and a periwinkle blue button-up shirt with the collar left strategically open to show off a tantalizing glimpse of his collar bones.

He already knows, from the way Takashi was staring at him in the gym and the way he’s reacted to Lance on the three dates they’ve been on since then, that Takashi finds him attractive, but it never hurts to put in a little more effort when possible.

He starts heading back downstairs and follows the chatter into the living room.

“—look familiar. Do you live around here or something?” says Hunk.

Lance hears someone shift on the couch. “Ah, no, I actually live in West Seattle.” Takashi’s voice still sounds a little nervous. Lance isn’t surprised; he’s probably still feeling overwhelmed by Hunk being...Hunk.

“Huh, I could have sworn I’ve seen your face before.”

Takashi’s voice turns sly, “Is it because I’m Asian and we all look alike?”

Lance chokes on a laugh caught in his throat as he hears Hunk sputter, “N-No! Oh my gosh, I _swear_ that wasn’t what I meant at all! I’m so sorry—”

Takashi cuts him off with an easygoing laugh that makes Lance think of hot chocolate with marshmallows—warm, sweet, and addictive. “It’s okay, Hunk. Sorry, I was just messing with you.”

Lance enters the living room just as Hunk breathes a sigh of relief. “Oh good, I was really scared that I offended you.” He pauses. “But you’ll let me know if I _do_ mess up in the future, right?”

Lance’s chest grows warm at Hunk’s words. This is the first time he’s spoken to any of Lance’s dates like he actually expects them to still be around in the foreseeable future. And that? That gives Lance hope that maybe this whole thing will work out after all.

Takashi smiles. “I will but I really don’t think you’ll have to worry about that.” His whole face lights up when he sees Lance. “Hey,” he says, voice turning soft. “Ready to go?”

Lance winks at him. “Ready whenever you are, handsome,” he says, just to see if he can get Takashi to blush.

He’s not disappointed when an adorable blush dusts the other man’s cheeks.

* * *

“I remember you mentioned you like spicy food so I hope Pakistani is okay,” Takashi says as he turns off the ignition of his car and fiddles with the adaptive controls on the left-hand side of the steering wheel.

Lance remembers offhandedly joking about how he’s not entirely convinced his mother didn’t feed him peppers as a baby, given how much he absolutely loves anything that has a hint of capsaicin in it. But that had been on their second date, which was _weeks_ ago. He also remembers rambling about a lot of things during their picnic at Discovery Park, none of which he truly expected Takashi to pay attention to, let alone actually _remember_.

If Lance didn’t already adore Takashi, this moment would have cemented it. _It’s nice to be wooed_ , he thinks, having grown used to being the wooer in all his previous relationships and flings. He had even been prepared to continue that trend when he took the chance to hit on Takashi at the gym, but the other man seems to be intent on reversing their roles since their first date.

He tucks himself into Takashi’s side and wraps his arm around the other man’s waist, smiling angelically up at him when the man slows down in surprise at the contact. Takashi doesn’t say anything but the way he brings his arm around Lance’s shoulders and squeezes him affectionately is enough.

The restaurant Takashi takes him to is in the basement of a narrow brownstone squeezed between two newer buildings like a child in a family photo. The lights are dimmed, creating a comfortably intimate atmosphere that makes Lance think of the restaurant Hunk’s family owns.

“Have you had _biryani_ before? This place makes the best ones,” Takashi tells him excitedly. His face reminds Lance of a Husky that was just told it was time to go for a walk.

“Is that a scientifically proven fact?” Lance teases. “Because you can’t say things like that and expect me to _not_ try to eat as much as I can for science.”

“Want to bet on it?” Takashi shoots back playfully.

A waiter leads them to a corner booth where Takashi, after taking a surreptitious glance of their surroundings, finally takes his cap off with a sigh Lance would describe as relieved. He doesn’t know why Takashi wears it all the time, especially when it’s obvious how uncomfortable it makes him, but Lance hasn’t asked—contrary to popular belief, _Pidge_ , he’s not _rude_ —and Takashi hasn’t offered an explanation yet. Lance figures he’ll tell him once they’re more comfortable with each other. Hopefully.

“Someone’s gonna think you’re a secret agent or something with the way you’re always fussing with your hat,” he teases.

Takashi grins in that self-deprecating way that Lance has come to find strangely endearing. “I guess it is something like that,” he says.

“Right, because of your contractor job.”

The expression on Takashi’s face contorts into something complicated for a second but a grumpy looking middle-aged waiter interrupts them before he can ask about that.

“Oh, it’s you,” the man says sourly.

Takashi beams at him. “Hey, Slav. How are you?” he chirps.

“Worse, now that you’re here,” the man—Slav, apparently—grunts. He slides a glance at Lance and sniffs. Lance gets the feeling that he isn’t impressed. “This is a first—you bringing someone with you.”

Takashi’s cheeks redden but he doesn’t dispute the comment. Lance doesn’t want to read into Slav’s comment too much but he won’t deny that he feels honoured.

“Lance, meet Slav. He’s one of the owners and incidentally the very first person I met when I moved here,” Takashi explains. “This was literally the first place I stopped at after flying in.”

Slav snorts, “Lord knows why you insist on coming back here after two years when you still can’t handle our naan.”

“It’s because you keep me humble,” says Takashi cryptically. “Anyway, Slav, this is Lance.” He winks at Lance before leaning closer to Slav and pretending to whisper, “I told him he was going to be my date tonight.”

“Oh? So what am I then?” Lance asks, propping his chin on his hands.

“You’re Slav’s newest victim, of course. The last time I was here, he was looking kind of bored, so I figured I’d start bringing him new people to emotionally abuse instead of just me.”

Slav lightly cuffs him on the back of his head with his notepad. “Your usual order then?” he asks dryly. “White people spicy instead of actually spicy?” At Takashi’s nod, he raises a challenging eyebrow at Lance. “And what about you?”

“I’ll have what he’s having but make mine actually spicy. No, _extra_ spicy.” Lance deliberately puts on a shit-eating grin and even bats his eyelashes at him.

Slav blinks. “It’s your funeral,” he says ominously before whisking himself away.

“You two have an interesting—should I call it friendship or something else?” Lance snickers.

“Slav loves me, really.” Takashi grins at him. “I’ve—uh, met a lot of people who started treating me differently once they find out what my job is but Slav’s not like that. It’s kind of refreshing.”

Lance nods in understanding. Some of his university friends had looked...less than impressed when they found out that Lance was dating someone who worked for the military. He can only imagine the kind of reactions Takashi’s received.

They chat about Takashi’s Arizona trip (“The meeting was touch-and-go for a while but it went really well. I think Koliv—our boss almost smiled.”), and Lance’s classes, which, by the way, are starting to become absolute murder with midterms literally around the corner.

“You’ll be fine,” Takashi tells him confidently, sounding like he’s stating a fact that’s up there with the likes of ‘Seattle only has two seasons: rain and construction,’ and ‘tourists who suddenly stop in the middle of the street to gawk at the Needle during rush hour deserve to be arrested,’ instead of simply placating his date. “You’re smart and you’ve made it this far already. One more year will be nothing for you.”

Before Lance can do something embarrassing like melt in his chair, Slav returns with their food. “Here you go, enjoy,” he tells them, sounding like he really couldn’t care less whether they do or not. “By the way, I told Sal you were here and he wanted me to tell you that it was a good game yesterday,” he says to Takashi.

Takashi jolts in his seat, briefly resembling a deer in the headlights, but the expression on his face clears so quickly that Lance dismisses it as his imagination. “Oh! Um, that’s good to hear,” he stammers.

After Slav leaves, Lance cocks his head at Takashi, curious. “What did he mean by that?”

Takashi shifts awkwardly in his seat. “It’s nothing. Sal’s the other owner here and—uh, we kind of bonded over hockey once. Slav was just talking about the game yesterday.” He almost sounds embarrassed.

 _I should introduce him to Pidge_ , Lance thinks, already looking forward to that. If Takashi thought Hunk was too much to handle, then he’s going to be in for a surprise when he meets Pidge.

“Have you ever thought about how different your life would be if you hadn’t made certain choices in the past?” Takashi suddenly asks, his voice uncharacteristically small. There’s something intense in his gaze that Lance can’t look away from even if he wanted to.

Lance blinks. That...is not what he expected. “What do you mean?”

Takashi exhales, sounding more exhausted than someone his age should be. It makes Lance want to hug him. “I mean, I know before you moved here, you were considering staying in Cuba for school. Did you ever wonder about where you’d be right now if you’d stayed instead?” His lips quirk into a small, dismal smile. “My parents—they always supported me and what I wanted to do.

“But after they died…” His eyes slide over to the empty space his right arm used to be. “It was the first time I felt so lost. If it weren’t for my grandfather, I don’t know where I’d be right now. He’s the reason I was able to get my prosthetic so I can do what I do now. And believe me, I’m very happy with where I am now, but sometimes, I can’t help thinking how different everything would be if my parents were still here.”

All Lance can do is reach across the table to squeeze his hand. He knows it’s not much but he hopes the action can at least bring Takashi some comfort. “Take it from me, as someone who’s made a million mistakes—yeah, there are tons of things I wish I’d done differently, but there are even more things I wouldn’t even dream of changing now.” He smiles, pouring as much affection into it as he can. “Like me moving here. Sure, I miss my family loads—sometimes so much that it _hurts_ —but I’ll never regret it. If I had never come here, I’d never have become friends with Hunk and Pidge...or met the sweetest, most charming, and not to mention _hottest_ man in Seattle, and arguably in the whole world.”

Takashi’s cheeks redden and, Lance is pleased to see, the dark look in his eyes dissipate. His smile turns playful. “Oh? He sounds like a pretty cool guy. Is he your boyfriend or something?”

“I’d like him to be,” Lance’s mouth says before his brain can catch up and put the words through the ‘socially acceptable things to say’ filter. It’s his turn to blush but he doesn’t look away from Takashi’s widened gaze. It’s not that he doesn’t mean it, but he still feels like he’s hung his heart on a bullseye and handed the bow and arrow to Takashi himself.

 _Oh well_ , he thinks faintly, _it’s too late to take it back now._

But then Takashi flips his hand over to rub his thumb over the back of Lance’s knuckles and gives him a smile that’s so bright that it could illuminate a cave. “I’d like that, too,” he says warmly.

...Yeah, Lance is pretty much gone for Takashi—end of the line, no take-backs, and all that.

But really, there are worse people he could fall for.

* * *

It’s almost midnight when they leave the restaurant (or, more accurately, Slav kicks them out by bringing them the bill and setting it down pointedly between them. But their more than generous discount belies his annoyance.) and Lance groans when he remembers that the drive back to his apartment from here is about half an hour.

“I don’t mind living in the university district but sometimes I really do hate how far away it is from anything interesting,” he whines once they’re back in the car.

But Takashi surprises him again when he clears his throat and nervously says, “My place isn’t too far from here. You could—um, spend the night if that would be more convenient.” At the surprised look Lance gives him, he hurries to add, sputtering, “N-Not that I’m implying anything! I don’t want to pressure you—”

Now wide awake at the thought of actually spending the night with Takashi, Lance leans over and shushes him with a finger on his lips. “Maybe I _want_ to be pressured,” he purrs. A beat. “That’s me saying ‘yes’, by the way.”

Less than ten minutes later, they arrive at Takashi’s condo in the heart of West Seattle. It sits on a small hill that offers a nice view of Elliott Bay and the mosaic of lights that make up the city’s skyline.

Lance tries not to gape too much when they enter the ground floor, which has its own reception and everything—there’s even a chandelier!

“Hey, Iverson,” Takashi greets the security guard.

The guard’s eyes narrow suspiciously at Lance but nods in response. Lance gulps and shuffles closer to Takashi’s side, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

Takashi squeezes his hand. “You okay?” he asks him quietly once they’re in the elevator.

“I’m great,” Lance lies, smiling reassuringly at him. “Just feeling a little chilly.”

Takashi’s eyes glitter and he leans down until his lips are by Lance’s ears. “I can warm you right up if you want,” he whispers, breath kissing Lance’s skin and making him shiver.

 _Oh, I want_ , Lance thinks.

Takashi’s condo isn’t as ostentatious as the reception but Lance still finds himself whistling, impressed. The living room is easily twice the size of that of Lance, Hunk, and Pidge’s student house, containing two plush armchairs, a loveseat, a coffee table, and a flat screen set on the wall just above a fireplace. To the right is a small kitchen that looks like it could be comfortably navigated by three people at a time, with a granite countertop that Lance is certain Hunk would happily commit murder just for the chance to cook in.

He had guessed that Takashi made a lot from his job—what, with all the travelling—but this is something else.

“Well, this is it,” says Takashi, who had hung back by the door as Lance took everything in. “I hope it’s okay.”

 _‘Okay’, he says_ , Lance thinks with a snort. He rests his hands on his hips and sighs dramatically, “Well, it’s not Buckingham Palace, but I _guess_ it’s fine.” He licks his lips and mentally punches his fist into the air when Takashi’s gaze turns heated at the motion. He saunters back to the taller man, deliberately putting an extra swing in his hips. “To be honest, I’m much more interested in the bedroom,” he murmurs, pitching his voice lower.

A smirk is the only warning Lance gets before Takashi easily picks him up in his arm, making him gasp as he automatically winds his legs around the other man’s waist. _Holy shit, he’s holding me as if I weigh_ nothing, Lance thinks dizzily, feeling all the blood in his body rush south.

Takashi kisses him, slowly but with heat. It’s not the first time they’ve kissed but it leaves Lance breathless all the same. “Are you sure you don’t want the full tour?” He grins against Lance’s lips. “The bathroom is closer, you know”

Lance pretends to think about it for a second. “I mean, I won’t complain if that’s where you want to have sex, but I just figured the bedroom would be more comfortable.”

Takashi laughs and thankfully starts walking. “Okay, okay, I guess you have a point.”

Without taking his eyes off Lance, he pushes his bedroom door open. “Well? What do you think? I hope this meets your expectations.” He even waggles his eyebrows, which would look ridiculous if it were anyone else, but is strangely endearing on him.

Lance pointedly slams the door shut behind him, throwing them into darkness. “I think it’ll do,” he declares with a smirk.

He feels the soft press of the mattress against his back as Takashi gently lays him down on the bed. It doesn’t take them long to undress each other, even when Lance takes his time running his hands down the hard, delicious planes of Takashi’s chest.

Lance flips them over so he’s straddling Takashi, who gives him a sunny smile. “Hi there,” the older man says huskily. He rubs his hand teasingly down Lance’s hip and thigh. He squeezes Lance’s ass, startling an embarrassing squeak out of him.

“H-Hi,” Lance gasps, suddenly feeling uncharacteristically nervous.

It isn’t that he’s having second thoughts about having sex with Takashi— _hell no_ —but he doesn’t think he’s ever gotten this far with someone he feels so strongly about before and it’s—it’s a lot. Almost too much.

He suddenly, desperately, can’t bear the possibility of fucking this up in any way.

“Hey,” Takashi’s warm voice brings him back. “Everything okay?” There is a crease between his brows. He’s actually _worried_. “We don’t have to do this now if you don’t want to.”

Feeling an overwhelming amount of affection bloom in his chest, Lance leans down and gives him a long, slow kiss. “I want,” he promises.

He gradually moves down Takashi’s body, laying kisses and bites at every inch of skin he can get to.

Finally, he reaches the other man’s gorgeous thick cock and his mouth starts watering.

“Lance…”

He glances up to find Takashi panting prettily down at him, his face and heaving chest as red as a rose. “Lance, please…”

Lance winks at him and, after making sure that Takashi is watching, starts swirling his tongue around the head of his cock slowly and messily, just the way he likes it when he’s receiving. And, judging by the moans falling from Takashi’s mouth and the way his fingers curl around Lance’s hair, he’s enjoying it as well.

Lance smirks around Takashi’s cock and begins to lower himself closer to the base, inch by inch. Takashi, it has to be said again, is _huge_ , forcing Lance to stretch his mouth to the point it is almost uncomfortable. But Lance’s dick clearly considers this a turn-on because it’s started leaking precome, and Lance _hasn’t even touched it_.

He hollows his cheeks and relaxes his throat as he reaches the root. “ _Fuck!_ ” Takashi whines. This is followed by the sound of his head thumping against his pillow—loudly.

Lance moans around his cock. Takashi groans at the sensation and his grip on Lance’s hair tightens, hovering right at that wonderful edge between pain and pleasure. There is something immensely satisfying about being able to bring a man this far to the edge and he savours every second of it.

“I-I’m close,” Takashi pants. He begins to tug Lance off his cock but Lance slaps his hand away and sucks harder instead. “Lance! I’m—” Takashi cries out as he suddenly comes down Lance’s throat.

Lance greedily swallows him down but isn’t too concerned when a stray drop of come ends up on his face. He knows how debauched he looks right now, with come and drool dripping all over his face and chin, but there isn’t a single part of him that gives a fuck.

He pulls off with a sigh and licks his lips. “Did you like that?” he asks innocently.

Takashi growls and, in a ridiculous display of strength that makes Lance’s cock twitch, flips them over. He practically _devours_ Lance when he kisses him, completely uncaring of the mess Lance has made of himself.

Lance can feel himself melt as Takashi gets a hold of his cock and starts stroking him. He knows he won’t last long, so all he can do is wrap his arms around Takashi’s neck and hold on for the ride.

He comes with a shout, which Takashi greedily swallows in a kiss. Takashi continues stroking him through the aftermath of his orgasm until Lance lets out a pitiful groan. “Did you like _that_?” Takashi asks, throwing his question back at him as he collapses next to him.

Lance gasps out a laugh and rolls over to snuggle in Takashi’s chest. “Hmm, I might need a repeat performance later.”

Takashi chuckles and kisses the top of his head. “As you wish.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you've ever wondered just how extra hockey teams can be, my idiotic Swedish son finally signed his contract after hemming and hawing over it for 3 months, just 30 minutes before the deadline (after which he wouldn't have been able to play for the rest of this season _at all_ ), because he clearly doesn't know the definition of the word "chill".


	3. Midseason (November)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With a not insignificant amount of dread, Shiro looks down at himself and groans at the sight of a handful of very visible hickeys and faint scratch marks dotting his skin.
> 
> “Bro, did you get mauled by a cat or something?” Antok guffaws. The nearly seven-foot tall Russian looks absolutely delighted and Shiro kind of wants to die.
> 
> “Or maybe a she-wolf,” James smirks. “Damn, whoever she was, she looks like she was trying to eat our illustrious captain alive.”
> 
> “Tried? More like succeeded,” Regris mutters thoughtfully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! As you might have noticed, we now have 9 chapters instead of 8. The wordcount is still the same, but I've decided to split what was going to be Ch. 4 into two chapters for pacing purposes, both of which will still be posted on the same day.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter! With cameos from Ryan Johansen and my beloved PK Subban.

The first thing Shiro registers when he wakes up is his phone blaring his alarm at full volume. The second thing he realizes is just how warm he is, almost uncomfortably so, which is weird because his whole condo has automatic temperature control.

That’s when he remembers: Lance.

Lance, who moaned his name so prettily last night that Shiro can feel his cock beginning to stir valiantly at the memory. Lance, who he still can’t quite believe is now officially his _boyfriend_.

Shiro registers the unfamiliar but not unwelcome weight slung across his waist as Lance’s arm only seconds before it shifts. A tired groan follows, breath tickling the back of Shiro’s neck. “What time’s it?” Lance’s voice slurs.

Shiro turns the alarm off before twisting around to peck Lance’s nose. It scrunches up adorably. “Sorry about that. It’s just a little before eight.”

Lance blinks groggily in response and Shiro can practically hear the gears of his brain creaking sluggishly as he processes that piece of information. His usually carefully styled hair is a mess of curls that Shiro’s fingers itch to run through.

He blushes as he remembers curling his hand in those very strands last night as Lance took him in his mouth, bringing him off in an embarrassingly short amount of time.

“Where the hell do you need to be this early?” Lance whines, burrowing his face in Shiro’s chest.

Shiro chuckles and runs his hand down his back. “One, it’s not that early when the sun’s already up, and two, there’s this thing called ‘work’. I think you’ve heard of it?” Lance lets out an annoyed huff, which makes Shiro laugh harder. “I gotta head out soon but you’re welcome to stay for as long as you want.” He imagines coming back home from his game tonight to Lance in his bed, maybe even in one of his shirts, and the burning desire to see that hits him like a punch to the gut.

 _Or better yet_ , his brain whispers cheekily, _in your jersey._

Shiro swallows. That...is certainly an image.

Lance finally pokes his head up. This close, Shiro can count his eyelashes if he wanted to. “No, it’s fine, I should probably head back anyway. I have class at eleven and a shift at the aquarium after that,” he says, sounding reluctant. To Shiro’s dismay, Lance extracts himself from his embrace to sit up and stretch his arms above his head, accentuating his lean back muscles. Shiro’s mouth starts watering.

“Do you know where the nearest bus stop is?” Lance asks over his shoulder, abruptly interrupting Shiro’s dumb caveman brain before it can wander into dirtier territory. It’s probably for the best.

“I can drop you off,” Shiro offers eagerly before remembering that practice starts in an hour. At Kirkland. Which is all the way on the other side of the lake. Even if he were willing to break the speed limit on the SR 520, he’d be lucky if he’s only twenty minutes late.

“Are you sure? I’m not in a rush.” Lance furrows his brows.

Outside, Shiro can hear a motorcycle engine start. The sun’s rays fall through the window and bathe Lance’s skin in a soft golden yellow light. He looks ethereal.

Shiro reaches over to squeeze his hand. “I’m sure,” he says with a smile.

* * *

“Do you mind if I take a picture of you?” Lance asks when they pull up outside of Lance’s student house.

“I don’t mind.” Shiro shrugs. “But what for?”

Lance smirks. “Proof that you actually exist. For some reason, some of my friends didn’t believe me when I told them I was dating a super hot guy I met at the gym, who I’m also pretty sure can bench press me if he wanted to.” His smirk widens, the very face of a mischievous goblin. “Hah, joke’s on them now!”

Something heavy drops to the pit of Shiro’s stomach. Having his picture taken by his boyfriend really shouldn’t be a big deal—if this were a normal relationship and he didn’t have the job he currently has.

But it isn’t and he does, so he says in a rush, “I’m sorry, I’m not really comfortable with that.” At the concern that falls over Lance’s face, he rushes to add, “I just get really self-conscious about my picture being up on the internet.” He gestures to his hair and scar.

Lance looks a little disappointed and Shiro hates himself for being the one responsible for it. But the frown on his face quickly vanishes and he smiles at Shiro, honey sweet. “It’s okay, don’t apologize,” he says brightly. “It’s absolutely your choice and I totally get it.”

He sounds so _sincere_ that Shiro aches to kiss him. “Thank you, I really appreciate that.” Shiro is beginning to suspect that, short of murder, there’s nothing he wouldn’t do to make Lance happy.

Lance opens the door but pauses just before getting out. He turns around and shoots Shiro a grin, the same secretive one he gave Shiro at the gym when they first met. “You know, now that I think about it, I don’t think I’d mind keeping you a secret just a little longer.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I like the idea of having you all to myself.” Lance blows him a kiss before hopping out of the car, nonchalantly shutting the door behind him like he hadn’t just been single-handedly responsible for making Shiro’s heart race so wildly.

It takes everything within Shiro to not jump out after Lance and kiss him until neither of them can breathe, but he manages.

His Lance-initiated good mood lasts him all the way to practice. Half of the team is still in the middle of treatment, so he has some time to get changed before practice officially starts, but he’s the last to arrive. This normally wouldn’t be a big deal, except for the fact that he’s the _captain_ —and he _never_ missed treatment before. At least not until today.

Keith is already in full gear when Shiro barrels into the locker room, sweaty and probably a little manic-looking. “Uh, are you okay?” Keith asks, raising an eyebrow at his appearance. Their teammates mirror him.

Shiro tries to keep his tone nonchalant as he replies, “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” He starts to strip out of his shirt.

“Because you’re not usually—”

Keith gets cut off by an obnoxiously loud wolf whistle that comes from the direction of Antok’s cubby, which is quickly followed by a chorus of hollers and cat calls from the rest of the team. Shiro whips his head up to find everyone’s eyes pinned on him—or rather, his chest.

With a not insignificant amount of dread, Shiro looks down at himself and groans at the sight of a handful of very visible hickeys and faint scratch marks dotting his skin.

“Bro, did you get mauled by a cat or something?” Antok guffaws. The nearly seven-foot tall Russian looks absolutely delighted and Shiro kind of wants to die.

“Or maybe a she-wolf,” James smirks. “Damn, whoever she was, she looks like she was trying to eat our illustrious captain alive.”

“Tried? More like succeeded,” Regris mutters thoughtfully.

Shiro finally gets his practice jersey on and shoots a dirty look at his teammates, for all the good that does. Even at a respectable six-foot-two, he’s still bizarrely one of the shortest players on the team (it’s actually Keith who has the honour of being the shortest, which none of them ever let him forget), which means he’s about as frightening as a Pomeranian to his predominantly Russian and Scandinavian teammates.

“Well, I’m alive, aren’t I?” Shiro retorts.

“Not for long if Kolivan has anything to say about that.”

Everyone jumps at the new voice among them. It’s Coran, who’s leaning against the doorway with an amused look on his face. His new duties as GM keep him from spending as much time in the locker room as he used to when he was still an assistant but he still pops in now and again to scare the crap out of them. Coran hasn’t outright admitted it yet but Shiro secretly thinks that he enjoys it.

“Hop to it, lads. You’ve got a game tonight,” Coran chirps in his heavy New Zealand accent.

“Yeah, against the Blackhawks. Sorry, I meant the _Fuckhawks_ ,” Thace snickers. Coran gives him a chastising look but tellingly doesn’t actually admonish him.

The team continues chirping Shiro for a few more minutes as he finishes changing into his kit before they all troop out onto the ice, where Kolivan is waiting for them with his trademark steely frown. In the two years since Shiro has been playing for Seattle, he hasn’t seen their coach smile once. The closest the man’s ever come to it was when they got all the way to the final round of the playoffs last year, which was doubly significant as it also happened to be their second year as an expansion team.

Upon catching sight of Shiro, Kolivan’s eyes narrow, making the scar over his right eye stand out even more. Shiro gulps. If looks could kill, Kolivan’s would—well, maybe not actually kill him, but promise an unholy amount of bag skates in his future.

Kolivan doesn’t make any mention of Shiro’s tardiness, though, but blows his whistle instead. “Drills. Five minutes. _Now_ ,” he barks.

They run their drills as usual before breaking into their lines for a scrimmage. During their reprieve, Shiro doesn’t miss the way Matt and Keith deliberately sandwich him on the bench.

“So, about those lovebites,” Matt begins casually, eyes glinting devilishly behind his visor.

Keith has a matching expression on his face. “What’s _his_ name?” he asks.

 _At least they’re not even bothering to pretend this isn’t an interrogation_ , Shiro thinks despairingly. “It’s called ‘none of your business,’” he says flatly.

He’s not surprised when, instead of being deterred, his linemates and so-called friends lean in even closer. _Piranhas, the both of them._ “That’s what I said when you were chirping me about Acxa,” says Keith, almost in sing-song. “But that didn’t stop you, did it?”

“Come on, spill,” Matt orders. He looks like he could do this all day and the worst part is Shiro knows he can.

Shiro sighs. Casually bringing up his hand to cover his mouth in case anyone is watching, he mutters, “His name is Lance and we’ve been dating for about a month.”

“A month, huh?” says Matt. “How’d you two meet?”

“We met at the gym.” Shiro pauses before adding more quietly, “He doesn’t know who I am.”

Keith and Matt stare at him. “He doesn’t—but _how?_ ” Matt shouts, drawing a few curious looks in their direction.

Shiro hastily shushes him. “He’s an international student from Cuba,” he hisses. “And he’s going to UDub.”

“Ooh, Katie might know him, then,” says Matt, eyes lighting up.

“He’s a marine biology major.”

Matt visibly sags. “Okay, maybe not.” He tilts his head thoughtfully. “But I could’ve sworn she once mentioned a friend who...” He trails off with a shake of his head. “Nah, it was probably something else.”

“And he doesn’t know anything about hockey,” Shiro adds. “The only sport he even remotely cares about is baseball.”

“How the hell has he not seen your face on any of the hundreds of ads all over the city yet? Better yet, why hasn’t he Googled you yet?” Keith asks, incredulous. “He’s either blind or an idiot.”

“He’s _not_ an idiot,” Shiro says with a glare, offended on behalf of his boyfriend. “And I gave him a fake name so he couldn’t find me online.”

“So what does he think you do?” Matt asks, sounding genuinely curious. “I mean, there can’t be that many jobs that require someone to travel out of state at least three times a week—unless you told him you were a travelling salesman, in which case I agree with Keith on him being an idiot.”

“I told him I’m a contractor and that I travel for work a lot,” Shiro mumbles.

Keith’s impression of Lance doesn’t seem to be improving. “Really. And he hasn’t gotten suspicious at all?”

“He has a part-time job at the aquarium on top of school, so his schedule is almost as hectic as ours.”

Matt whistles, sounding impressed. “Damn, you really have got it all worked out.”

“What are you all whispering about over there?” James calls out from the opposite end of the bench. Next to him, his fellow defenseman Ryan looks just as curious.

“We’re wondering when you’re finally going to ask Liefsdottir out,” Matt calls back without missing a beat. He gestures to their TSN correspondent, who’s sitting just a few rows above them.

The petite blonde is, thankfully for James, too focused on the ice to pay any attention to them, but that doesn’t stop James from blushing and flipping Matt the bird. “Keep your trap shut or I’ll tell her what your original Halloween costume idea was.”

“Oh no, I’m _so_ scared,” Matt snickers before turning back to Shiro. “You _are_ gonna tell him, right?” He says it like it’s a bygone conclusion.

“It’s not like you can keep it hidden forever,” adds Keith. At Shiro’s silence, he frowns. “ _Shiro…_ ”

“I will, I will,” says Shiro, holding his palms out in surrender. “It’s just...things have been really good between us and I don’t want to risk it.”

“That’s kind of a self-fulfilling prophecy, don’t you think?” Matt points out, annoyingly reasonable. “Your relationship’s going to change when he finds out anyway—‘ _when_ ,’ by the way, not ‘ _if_ ’—so the best thing you can do is head it off at the pass by telling him first.”

“If he really cares about you, then you shouldn’t have anything to worry about,” Keith declares confidently. “But if he doesn’t, then it’s probably better to cut him off before you get in too deep.”

Antok, Thace, and Regris arrive for their line change, effectively ending their conversation. “I’ll keep that in mind,” Shiro tells them diplomatically as he hops onto the ice.

He knows his friends are right, but it still doesn’t quell his fear that everything will be ruined the moment he tells Lance the truth. He _likes_ Lance—more than likes him, in fact—and the last thing he wants is to lose him the same way he lost Adam.

 _No_ , he chides himself sternly, _Lance isn’t like Adam, he’s different._

* * *

**Ina Liefsdottir** ✓ @iliefsdottir · Oct 28

Takashi Shirogane may have been late to practice for the first time in his #Defenders career but was nevertheless in fine form during today’s scrimmage.

**Daniel** @pucksrus · Oct 28

Replying to @iliefsdottir

hey, as long as Shiro keeps bringing his A game, I think he can afford to be late once in a while

**Ina Liefsdottir** ✓ @iliefsdottir · Oct 28

Keith Kogane’s goal seals a 5-1 victory for the #Defenders. Kogane led the way with two goals, followed by Takashi Shirogane, Ryan Kinkade, and Antok Popov scoring one goal each.

* * *

**Ina Liefsdottir** ✓ @iliefsdottir · Nov 6

James Griffin on the game against Nashville tomorrow: “There’s obviously a bit of a rivalry since they knocked us out of the playoffs last year, but we’re older and wiser now, and we just have to do our best.”

**Vince** @vincevangoth · Nov 6

Replying to @iliefsdottir

rip us we’re going to die tomorrow

**Larmina** @imalwayshangry · Nov 6

Replying to @iliefsdottir

lol i feel like we’re about to watch a baby throw hands with an actual tiger

**Katie Holt** @pidgepodge · Nov 7

Prayer circle for my brother and the team tonight! #GoDefendersGo

* * *

Shiro knows that there are plenty of people in the league who think that Allura shouldn’t be the president of the Seattle Defenders, either because they think she’s too young, she only got the job through her father, who owns the team, or that she shouldn’t be anywhere near the league simply because she is a woman.

Shiro can admit that he had his trepidations about her back when he joined the team—not about her being a woman, but because she was even younger than _him_ —but all that vanished when he actually met her on the day of the team’s very first training camp. He still remembers the salmon pink two-piece suit she wore over a cream-coloured blouse, a bold marriage of her unapologetic femininity and dominant personality. Every single person in the locker room sat up straight as soon as she walked into the room. Something about her presence _demanded_ respect.

He’s reminded of that moment now as she strolls into the locker room half an hour before puck drop, in an ivory white suit over a lacy black blouse this time, with a fox’s grin on her face. “So, it’s only the second month of the season and we’re already number four in the whole league. How is everyone feeling?” she asks in her crisp British accent. Indistinct murmurs fill the room. “Normally I’d tell you to take it easy and just do your best, but I’m afraid I can’t do that this time. We’re up against Nashville, after all.”

The murmurs grow louder and even Shiro finds himself clenching the fist of his prosthetic. Getting beaten by Nashville in overtime during last year’s playoffs is still a sore point for all of them. The Cup had been _so close_. Shiro knows he’s not the only one who’s been looking forward to a rematch since last year.

“If I have to endure Sean Henry’s smug face any longer, I won’t be liable for my actions.” Allura pins them all with a look that is somehow even more frightening than the one Kolivan gets on his face just before the words “bag skate” leave his mouth. “And you wouldn’t want that, would you?”

“Forget playing, we should just send her out against Nashville’s first line,” Matt whispers to Shiro. “She’d crush them.”

“I’d take that bet,” Ryan tells him.

“Alright, let’s head out,” Kolivan declares in a booming voice. “It’s time to teach those cats a lesson.”

As his teammates begin to trickle out of the room, Shiro quickly checks his phone, smiling fondly when he sees Lance’s text.

> **Lance:** omg i cant do this im gonna fail this stupid midterm so bad and then the last 3 yrs wouldve been for nothing and ill be stuck giving tours at the aquarium forever and im never going to get to swim with their sharks T_T

> **Lance:** i shouldve just gone into astrophysics that shits probably easier than this

Shiro’s been dating Lance long enough by now that he knows the younger man doesn’t mean a single word of it. His nonsensical rambling is just his way of dealing with stress.

It’s oddly adorable but Shiro suspects he’d find everything Lance does adorable.

> **Me:** Hey, it’s going to be ok, just take a deep breath. You’ve been studying for weeks and you already passed all your other midterms.

> **Lance:** you dont know that!!

> **Me:** But I know you and how smart you are. You’ll be fine.

Shiro stops typing as an idea suddenly hits him. He almost wants to start giggling but reins in the urge, well aware of the chirps _that_ will likely garner if his team catches him. 

> **Me:** I have a meeting soon so you’ll probably be done before me...but I’ll send you something nice as a reward afterwards ;-)

> **Lance:** ALSKDFUSOVJFNR

> **Lance:** GREAT IM GOING TO WALK INTO MY EXAM WITH A SEMI NOW. THANKS A LOT TAKASHI

> **Me:** Good luck, baby, I believe in you

When Shiro finally joins the rest of his team on the ice, Keith takes one look at him and snorts, “Let me guess—Lance?”

Shiro merely grins in response.

They go through the usual rigmarole of warming up on the ice, followed by the singing of the anthem, before finally getting into position for the puck drop.

Across the red line, Ryan Johansen smirks at him, the challenge clear in the centerman’s eyes. Out of the corner of Shiro’s eye, he spots P.K. Subban, one of the Predators’ defensemen, saying something that makes James laugh. The referee plants himself between Shiro and Johansen, one hand holding his whistle to his mouth and the other dangling the puck above their heads.

The arena explodes into pure noise. ACDC’s _Shoot To Thrill_ is blasting out of the speakers but it takes Shiro a few seconds to even recognize it because the crowd’s cheering is almost loud enough to drown it out—and he eagerly lets it all wash over him like the tide. Now this, _this_ is why he started playing hockey—not for the fame or money (although he isn’t naive enough to think they’re completely irrelevant factors), but for the rush of pure adrenaline that floods his veins. It’s something he’s never been able to find anywhere else off the ice.

The referee blows the whistle and drops the puck.

Shiro meets Johansen’s eyes in the split second before the puck hits the ice and knows they’re both thinking the exact same thing: _game on._

* * *

They narrowly beat Nashville 3-2 and Shiro feels it all over his body when he boards the plane. He all but collapses in his usual seat next to Keith and lets out a deep groan that rumbles from his bones. “I don’t know what Subban’s been eating but he was checking like a bulldozer tonight.”

Keith snorts but Shiro doesn’t miss the way he’s subtly massaging his shoulder. Oh yeah, they’re all definitely going to be in treatment tomorrow morning.

As the rest of the team gets settled, Shiro sneaks his phone out, grinning when he sees that he has five new messages.

The first one is a characteristically curt, no-nonsense one from Adam.

> **Adam:** Good game tonight. You might be relying too much on your prosthetic because you keep leaving your right side open.

If Shiro didn’t know his ex better, he might have been offended. But he knows that this is just Adam’s way of showing he cares, even though they haven’t been a couple in years.

 _Thanks, I’ll work on that!_ , he texts back while also making a mental note of it for tomorrow’s practice session.

He reads the one from his grandfather next, which—all in Japanese—tells him, in this order: _good job on showing those preds who’s the boss_ , _I love you_ , and _pick up your phone once in a while, would you?_

Shiro chuckles and sends off a quick reply, promising to call him this weekend.

The next three messages are all from Lance, which Shiro eagerly opens. The first two, which he apparently sent hours ago, say:

> **Lance:** my exam went ok no thanks to you, you tease!!

> **Lance:** anyway i know youre prolly still at your meeting but consider this as payback

His next message has Shiro sucking his breath in as all the blood in his body rushes to his dick.

It’s a selfie—and not just a selfie, but a shirtless one that shows off Lance’s broad shoulders, chest, abs, and the faintest hint of a happy trail just below his navel. Judging by the tiled walls in the background and the water droplets on his body, he’s in the bathroom and most likely just finished showering.

“Hey, Shiro! Are you looking at nudes or something?” Antok calls out from the seat across the aisle.

Shiro immediately slips his phone back into his pocket but it’s too late, Antok and James are leering at him. _Oh god, they know_ , Shiro thinks for one heart-stopping second, feeling terror surge through his body like ice cold water dumped over his head.

But then Antok bursts out laughing. “Holy shit, your face is so red!” he howls. “I was just kidding, man.”

“ _Please_ tell me it’s the same girl who went at you like a scratching post last week,” James cackles.

Shiro groans and drops his head in his hands.

“Does Shiro finally have a girlfriend?” Regris pipes up from somewhere near the back of the plane.

Before Shiro can think of a response, Ulaz sighs from two rows in front of Shiro, “Leave him alone, you hyenas. Your own love lives can’t possibly be this bad that you have to resort to being nosy about someone else’s.” Their goalie sticks his head out and shoots an annoyed glare at them. “Now shut up so I can sleep.”

Antok, James, and Regris mutter unintelligibly under their breaths but settle back down in their seats. Shiro gives his mentor a grateful smile, which Ulaz returns with a nod.

Once he’s sure that no one’s watching, Shiro discreetly takes his phone out again and pulls Lance’s selfie back up.

“God, you are so taken with this guy,” Keith murmurs, sounding like he’s not sure whether he should be awed or disgusted.

“Bold words coming from the guy who proposed to his girlfriend with his mother’s knife instead of an engagement ring,” Shiro retorts.

Keith blushes and crosses his arms. “At least she said yes.” he mumbles.

Shiro turns back to his phone with a satisfied smirk and texts back:

> **Me:** You need to come with your own warning sign, babe. I think you might have upstaged my own reward.

Lance’s reply is immediate.

> **Lance:** then hurry up and get back here so you can give it to me already!!

The five-hour flight from Nashville to Seattle has never felt so long.


	4. Midseason (December-January)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So, Lance,” Rachel begins slyly, flicking her hair. “Have you been seeing anyone lately?”
> 
> At the head of the table, Mom has visibly paused in spooning food onto Nadia’s plate, her head perking up like a gopher.
> 
> Lance glares at his sister. It’s not that he doesn’t want to tell his family about Takashi, it's just that he would have preferred to do it at his own pace. _Well, no time like the present_ , he thinks. “Maybe,” he allows. “Why’re you asking?”
> 
> “Oh, it’s just that I noticed your Facebook relationship status says you’re no longer single and I was wondering what was up with that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Double Chapter Day! Be sure to check out Ch. 5 as well!

Lance normally loves coming back to Cuba to visit his family over the holidays but it’s moments like now, when Rachel’s looking at him like the cat that got both the cream _and_ the canary, that he finds himself almost missing the dreary rains of Seattle more than Varadero’s sun.

Almost.

“So, Lance,” Rachel begins slyly, flicking her hair. “Have you been seeing anyone lately?”

At the head of the table, Mom has visibly paused in spooning food onto Nadia’s plate, her head perking up like a gopher.

Lance glares at his sister. It’s not that he doesn’t want to tell his family about Takashi, it's just that he would have preferred to do it at his own pace. _Well, no time like the present_ , he thinks. “Maybe,” he allows. “Why’re you asking?”

“Oh, it’s just that I noticed your Facebook relationship status says you’re no longer single and I was wondering what was up with that.”

Lance cringes. He’d specifically stayed up until one in the morning to change his status, counting on Facebook’s weird algorithm and the three-hour time difference to keep him under his family's radar.

But Rachel is even more of a social media aficionado than he is, so, in hindsight, he should have realized that it was never going to work.

“Wait, does _Tío_ Lance have a girlfriend?” Sylvio screeches, halting all chatter at the dining table. He actually tries to stand up on his chair to get a better look at Lance but Luis firmly pushes him back down with a hand on his shoulder.

“Or boyfriend,” Veronica reminds everyone, proving herself to be Lance’s favourite once again.

“Well, Lance, do you?” Rachel prods. Lance thinks that the phrase ‘like a dog with a bone’ was coined specifically for his sister.

Lance sighs and sets his cutlery down. “Yeah, I started seeing someone a few months ago. And it’s a guy.” Something pinches his heart at the reminder that he hasn’t seen Takashi in _weeks_ ; between his exams and Takashi’s work, they were only really able to exchange Christmas gifts and cuddle for a bit on the morning Lance flew out.

“Ooh!” Marco hooks his arm around Lance’s shoulders, effectively trapping him in. “What’s his name? And do you have any pictures?”

Lance sighs again, exasperated, but takes his phone out. “His name’s Takashi.” He opens his _Takashi ♥ (SFW)_ album and surrenders his phone to his brother, resigning himself to the fact that he’s probably not going to get it back until after dinner.

Marco whistles. “Hot damn, Lance, you sure know how to pick him.” He hands the phone to Luis next, who swipes through a few pictures silently before letting out a low grunt that Lance knows means he’s begrudgingly impressed.

“Eh, he’s alright,” he says.

Lance’s sister-in-law, Lisa, who’s been leaning over his arm to have a look, elbows him in the side. “Don’t lie, you would absolutely tap that if we weren’t already married. I know I would,” she teases.

Lance preens at the compliment. “He’s great,” he says, watching as Lisa hands his phone over to Rachel and Veronica. “He’s a contractor and travels a lot for work.”

“Good Lord, I think his chest is even bigger than Chris Evan’s,” Rachel hisses, sounding torn between feeling scandalized or awed.

“Sounds like a busy man,” Dad notes.

“How did you two meet?” Mom asks eagerly.

Lance grins. “We were the only ones at the gym one morning and I hit on him. I guess he must have liked it because we’ve been dating ever since.”

“You mean you haven’t scared him off yet?” Marco snickers. Veronica reaches across the table to cuff him upside the head.

“I’m sure this Takashi is a very nice man,” Mom sniffs. She takes the phone from Rachel and her eyes widen comically when they land on the screen. “Oh wow,” is all she can say.

“He might even be taller than Luis,” says Dad, eyebrows nearly reaching his hairline.

“I want to see!” Nadia and Sylvio scramble at Mom’s arm, pulling it down until they can see the screen as well.

“He looks like a prince, _Tío_ Lance,” says Nadia dreamily.

Lance grins at his niece. “That’s because he is, Dee. He’s the sweetest, most charming prince that you’ll ever meet.”

“That’s high praise, bro,” says Veronica. She leans back in her chair and gives him a _look_. “How come you haven’t mentioned him until now?”

“Or uploaded any pictures of him?” Rachel chimes in. “If I had a man like that, I’d never stop showing him off.”

“You make him sound like a piece of meat,” Lance tells her dryly. But he can still feel Veronica’s gaze on him and knows she’s not going to let him leave without answering her question. “And—uh, we’ve been keeping things quiet because Takashi’s not comfortable with social media. Pidge hasn’t even met him yet.”

Not for lack of trying, though. It’s just that Takashi and Lance’s schedules are so crazy that they’ve barely had time to go on another date since their first sleepover. And Pidge was having dinner with her parents at the time. She adores her Venus flytrap, though, which means Takashi is among her top ten favourite people in the world now, even though she still doesn’t know what he looks like.

It’s gotten to the point that it’s become a running joke between them. Pidge keeps making wilder and wilder guesses about what Takashi looks like, and is now absolutely convinced that he’s a six-foot-five Dragon Ball Z-like character. Just for that, Lance has refused to show her any of his pictures until they can finally meet in person.

“I really like him,” continues Lance. “Anyway, he says that he’ll get some time off during the summer, so he can visit.” He gulps, “Um, that’s if you don’t mind.”

Mom beams at him. “Of course we don’t, honey.”

“He sounds like he’s really important to you,” Dad adds. “I’m looking forward to meeting him.” His voice is gruff but they all know it’s just for show.

 _I can’t wait for all of you to meet him and fall in love with him just as much as I have_ , Lance thinks, warmth filling his chest. This is the first time he’s ever wanted to bring someone back home to meet his family and the feeling is both terrifying and exhilarating.

* * *

Lance loves going over to his grandparents’ house for their annual New Year’s Eve party, which has always been a neighbourhood-wide event. After living in the States for so long, Lance has developed a greater appreciation for his _abuela’s_ food, and the atmosphere of a good party among family and childhood friends.

But tonight he appreciates all of it for a whole other reason; the chaos allows him to sneak away to give Takashi a call without anyone’s notice.

At ten minutes to midnight, Lance slips into one of the spare bedrooms and opens the FaceTime app on his phone. He taps Takashi’s icon and waits.

Barely five seconds pass before Takashi picks up. His hair is a mess and the telltale pink of alcohol tinges his cheeks but he looks just as happy to see Lance as Lance is to see him after being away from each other for so many weeks.

In the background, Lance hears someone yell in Japanese, prompting Takashi to shout back something in Japanese as well. “ _Sorry about that, babe,_ ” he says as he enters a room and closes the door behind him, muting the sounds of whatever is going on in the background. “ _My uncle brought sake and my grandfather dug up the karaoke machine an hour ago. Let’s just say the party is going about as well as you’d expect and leave it at that._ ”

Lance’s cheeks are already starting to hurt from smiling but he doesn’t care. He just missed Takashi _so much_. “It’s okay. My brother just opened the third bottle of tequila and I’m pretty sure no one in the house is sober anymore. Well, apart from the kids.” He drops down on the bed and runs his eyes over Takashi’s face, drinking in his eyes, scar, and jawline. “I miss you,” he says softly.

Takashi’s blush deepens but the other man looks pleased. “ _I miss you too, babe,_ ” he says, his voice quiet and sweet. “ _Are you having a good time, at least? I know you really missed your family._ ”

“Yeah, but you know that saying about how absence makes the heart grow fonder but familiarity breeds contempt? I’m think I’ve been stuck at the second stage since I walked through my front door,” says Lance, earning a laugh from Takashi that he wants nothing more than to bottle up and keep in his heart forever. “But no, everything’s been great. I got to see my niece and nephew, and meet up with some friends from high school.”

“ _I’m glad to hear that._ ”

Lance’s smile turns wicked. “My family asked about you, you know. They want to meet you.”

Lance has never seen someone sober up so quickly. “ _They what?! Lance, a-are you sure? Oh god, I’ve been wearing nothing but pajamas since the break started! They’re going to think I’m a slob and—_ ”

Lance laughs. “Relax! I don’t mean now, obviously. I meant during the summer, like we talked about.”

Takashi’s shoulders sag as he breathes a sigh of relief. “ _Oh, good. Sorry, I guess the idea’s been on my mind since I told my grandfather about you as well._ ”

Despite his nervousness, Lance perks up. “What did he say? You better have told him about how amazing I am.”

It’s Takashi’s turn to laugh. “ _Of course. I also told him how kind and driven you are. He can’t wait to meet you._ ”

“Same here,” says Lance. He rolls over onto his belly and runs his finger over Takashi’s face on the screen, trying to convince himself that he can almost feel the man’s skin this way. “What else have you been up to?” he asks suddenly.

Takashi, who has gotten used to his random conversation segues, starts chatting about his own family’s Christmas dinner, and meeting up with a couple of people he used to play hockey with in high school. “ _And I got to have coffee with Adam for the first time in—god, it must have been years._ ”

Lance sits up straight. “Adam?” he parrots.

Takashi rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “ _Yeah, he’s my ex._ ”

Takashi doesn’t talk about his ex often but Lance has heard enough to connect the dots. They started dating in high school and stayed together until just after Takashi dropped out, probably because it was also around the time he moved to Toronto for his first job. A few years later, he got the job that he has now, bringing him to Seattle. He had confided that he dated sparingly after the breakup but Lance was his first actual boyfriend since Adam. Takashi never explicitly said it but Lance would even go as far as to call them each other’s first loves. He has a strong suspicion that if Adam hadn’t stayed behind, the two of them would still be together—they might have even gotten married.

Jealousy simmers in the pit of Lance’s stomach like hot coals but he forces himself to keep smiling. He _knows_ he has nothing to worry about but the insecurity gnaws at him like a growing black hole anyway. “Oh. That’s good,” he says. “How’s—uh, how’s Adam doing?”

Takashi must have caught a glimpse of what he’s really feeling on his face because his expression softens and he leans closer to his phone, as if that would actually bring him physically closer to Lance. “ _He’s good but I don’t want to talk about him, I want to talk about you._ ”

“I’m fine—”

“ _You’re making that face._ ”

Lance blinks. “What face?”

“ _The face you always make whenever you want to pretend you’re not bothered by something._ ”

Lance looks away from his phone and bites his lip. While a part of him is touched that Takashi cares about him enough to notice his tells, the rest of him wishes he never asked about Adam. It’s not a big deal and besides, Lance is a goddamn adult. He has a loan, a part-time job, and pays his bills on time—he shouldn’t be so affected by the mention of his boyfriend’s ex! Hell, he’s had even more exes than Takashi and Takashi never lost his cool like Lance is doing right now.

“ _Hey, it’s okay,_ ” Takashi’s voice gently cuts in, bringing Lance’s attention back to his phone. Surprisingly, instead of looking annoyed like he should, he’s smiling at Lance with far more fondness than he deserves. “ _I loved Adam—and I’ll probably always love him because he’s still one of my best friends, but he’s not the one I want to date now,_ you _are._ ”

Lance blushes. Despite the inevitable stab to his heart at the words that Takashi still loves Adam in some way, the rest of Takashi’s words wraps around him like a warm blanket. He knows that Takashi likes him but just knowing it is one thing—actually hearing it confirmed with his own ears is another.

“Takashi, I…”

“ _I love you, Lance,_ ” Takashi suddenly says, breathless.

Lance’s heart stops beating. _Did Takashi just say…_

It’s not that they haven’t occasionally discussed where they want their relationship to go—they’ve even made plans to visit each other’s families over the summer, so if that isn’t a sign of willingness to commit then Lance doesn’t know what is—but this feels...new. Raw.

Lance still doesn’t know a lot about Takashi’s life before Seattle and, to be fair, Takashi still doesn’t know that much about his life in Cuba, which means it’s too soon for them to be making love confessions, right?

Except it doesn’t feel that way. Lance hasn’t been able to stop thinking about Takashi at least once every day since they met, which is a first for him. In fact, Takashi’s been his ‘first’ in a lot of ways that none of his past boyfriends or girlfriends had been. He wants to give everything he has to Takashi and is willing to take whatever the man wants to give him in return.

“I love you, too,” says Lance.

Takashi’s eyes widen, like the other man really hadn’t expected this (which is absolutely _absurd_ ), before his whole face brightens, making him look years younger.

Someone knocks on the door and Lance looks up just in time to see Veronica poke her head in with a knowing grin on her face. “Hey, if you’re done whispering sweet nothings to your boyfriend, we’re about to start the countdown.”

“I’ll be there in a bit,” Lance says with a wave of his hand.

Veronica rolls her eyes but leaves without another word, closing the door behind her.

Lance turns back to his phone to find that they’ve only got about half a minute left until midnight.

“ _Sorry, I didn’t realize that we had been talking for so long. Do you want to go?_ ” Takashi asks, considerate as always.

Lance shakes his head. “Nah, I’d rather ring in the new year with you.” He winks, just because he can.

Takashi’s face turns bright red, which is visible even through Lance’s slightly cracked screen. _Hah, if you think you’re the only one who can get away with sweeping people off their feet, then you’ve got another thing coming_ , he thinks triumphantly.

“ _We’ve still got a few hours over here,_ ” Takashi tells him. “ _Say hi to me from the future, will you?_ ”

 _Right, time zones_ , Lance remembers. Downstairs, he can already hear his family and friends begin the countdown.

“ _Ten...nine…_ ”

“I’ll do you one better,” says Lance.

“ _Eight...seven…_ ”

Takashi quirks an eyebrow. “ _Oh?_ ”

“ _Six...five…_ ”

“I’ll give you a kiss.”

“ _Four...three…_ ”

Lance closes his eyes and presses the tips of his index and middle fingers to his lips.

“ _Two...one…_ ”

He opens his eyes and makes sure they are locked with Takashi’s before blowing a kiss to him on the screen. It’s a silly gesture but he still tries to channel as much of his affection into it as he can. A part of him, the childish part that never left Cuba, hopes that Takashi can feel his love, even over five thousand kilometers away.

“ _Happy New Year!_ ”

“Happy New Year, Takashi,” Lance whispers, in juxtaposition to the noisy celebration below.

“ _Happy New Year, Lance,_ ” says Takashi, his voice just as soft and full of love.

* * *

When Shiro leaves his room, his grandfather is waiting for him in the hallway and giving him a shrewd, knowing look. “ _Was that him?_ ” he asks slyly in Japanese.

Shiro blushes but can’t stop himself from grinning like...well, a sap who just heard his boyfriend tell him that he loved him for the first time. He’d almost forgotten how amazing the feeling could be, how much power is in those three little words.

“ _Yeah,_ ” he replies. “ _Lance says ‘hi’ and that he’s looking forward to meeting you._ ”

His grandfather lets out a huff, as if this were a foregone conclusion. “ _It’s your fault for hiding him away for so long._ ” Despite being much, much shorter than Shiro, it doesn’t stop him from reaching up to pinch Shiro’s ear like Shiro’s still a child who just got caught watching TV while he was supposed to be doing homework and not an adult with his own mortgage.

Shiro chuckles. “ _I wasn’t hiding him! I told you about him after our first date, remember?_ ”

“ _Yes, but you haven’t told him about yourself yet, have you?_ ”

Shiro gulps and has to look away. “ _I-I will,_ ” he stammers. “ _It’s just...complicated,_ ” he finishes lamely.

He hears his grandfather let out a disappointed sigh, which just makes him feel worse. “ _Takashi,_ ” he says quietly, “ _all I want is to see you happy, as would your parents if they were still here._ ”

Shiro peeks through his fringe to find his grandfather gazing at him with concern. He gives him a reassuring smile. “ _I know,_ ” he tells him. “ _Everything’s going to be fine, I promise._ ”

One of Shiro’s cousins, Ryou, pops his head in from the corner. “ _There you are! The countdown’s about to start!_ ”

Their grandfather waves at him. “ _Alright, alright, there’s no need to shout._ ”

As they follow Ryou back down to the living room, Shiro repeats his own words to himself like a mantra. _Everything’s going to be fine._


	5. Midseason (February)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hey, I don’t think I’ve seen you around before. Are you a friend of Shiro’s?”
> 
> Lance arches an eyebrow. “Shiro? You mean Takashi?”
> 
> Something glimmers in the woman’s eyes. “Oh, yeah! I’m just so used to calling him by his nickname that I sometimes forget that’s his real name.”
> 
> Lance makes a mental note to ask Takashi about that. “Yeah, I’m Takashi’s boyfriend.” He holds his hand out for the woman to shake. “I’m Lance, it’s nice to meet you.”

The door to Shiro’s condo clicks shut just seconds before Shiro slams Lance against it, closing his lips over Lance’s neck and sucking at the skin just beneath his ear, one of his most sensitive spots.

“ _Fuck_ —Takashi!” Lance gasps. He tightens his arms around Shiro and widens his legs, giving Shiro more room to push his thigh up against his crotch. Lance moans and the sound lights the blood in his veins on fire.

They only just got back from their Valentine’s date but Shiro’s memory of their evening is already fading under the heat of Lance’s body against his. He remembers picking Lance up from his place (just minutes before his ever mysterious roommate Pidge was due to get back from class), arriving at the restaurant, and exchanging gifts—a bouquet of roses and a Rolex for Lance, and a pair of beautiful silver moon-shaped cufflinks for Shiro. Other than that, all he can remember is Lance’s blue, blue eyes locked onto his the whole time they were at dinner and the tantalizing sensation of the younger man’s foot sliding playfully up and down his calf under the table.

Needless to say, they didn’t stay for dessert.

“Bed, _now_ ,” Lance demands with a hitched breath.

Shiro grins and half-carries him to his room. This is a familiar song and dance to them now; Lance has stayed over enough times that he’s already started leaving his toothbrush and skincare products in Shiro’s bathroom, along with a couple extra sets of clothes in the closet.

Despite the routine, sex with Lance has yet to grow old. It’s still just as thrilling now as it was their first time together all those months ago, and Shiro doesn’t think he’ll get bored of it any time soon.

Forget drugs, all those health PSAs Shiro was subjected to in high school really should have just warned him against _Lance_ because Shiro has no doubt that he’s an addict beyond saving now.

He gently pushes Lance onto his bed and shuffles forward on his knees. Lance peers up at him from beneath hooded eyes, grins, and parts his legs.

Shiro’s mouth waters as he settles into the inviting space between Lance’s thighs. He lowers his head to share another kiss with him.

They’re both panting when they pull apart and Shiro can’t stop staring at Lance’s face, drinking in his flushed skin, the sweat dripping down his neck and forehead, and his swollen lips.

Lance is gorgeous and Shiro _knows_ this, has known this ever since the day they met, but it still doesn’t stop him from being caught off guard.

Lance’s gaze is dark and heated, matching the fire burning at the bottom of Shiro’s stomach, and he licks his lips. He starts tugging at Shiro’s shirt. “Come on, you’re not nearly naked enough for what I have planned,” he growls. His voice, which isn’t as deep as Shiro’s, comes out as more of a whine. It’s cute.

“Whatever you say, darling,” Shiro chuckles.

Once they’re both naked, Shiro runs his hand down Lance’s chest, deliberately brushing one of his nipples and eliciting an incredibly gratifying gasp from the man beneath him, all the way down to his cock. He wraps his fingers around it and starts stroking it, grinning when Lance bucks up against his grip. “Oh!” he gasps, eyes rolling to the back of his head.

Shiro inches himself backwards before leaning down and tonguing the head of Lance’s cock. He feels Lance’s hands grasp desperately at his hair and eagerly follows their pull until Lance’s dick is hitting the back of his throat.

He closes his eyes and starts bobbing his head, enjoying the now more than familiar weight on his tongue. Above him, the chorus of whimpers and moans falling out of Lance’s mouth goes straight to Shiro’s rapidly hardening cock.

 _This is all for me_ , his goblin brain croons, stupidly satisfied with itself.

Shiro could have happily spent the rest of the night sucking Lance off but the other man apparently has other ideas because he pushes him off several moments later. A lovely flush has spread from his cheeks down to his chest and his pupils are blown so wide that his eyes now resemble two black voids instead of the beautiful blue robin eggs they usually are. Shiro kind of wants to devour him.

“I want you to come in me,” Lance pants, sounding like he just ran a marathon.

_God, yes._

Lance leans over to get the lube out of the nightstand, mindful of Shiro’s prosthetic, and pours a generous amount over his fingers. He folds his mile-long legs up so his knees nearly reach his ears and, never taking his eyes off Shiro, dips his finger into his hole.

Shiro has to squeeze his cock to keep from coming just at the sight alone.

“God, babe, you should see yourself,” he breathes as Lance adds a second finger.

“Maybe next time,” Lance teases, glancing pointedly at his phone on the nightstand.

_Oh fuck._

“Oh fuck,” says Shiro.

Lance chuckles, which tapers off to a sob when he adds a third finger. Shiro might be drooling a little. “Okay, I’m ready,” Lance exhales, pulling his fingers out with an obscene squelch that sounds far more erotic to Shiro’s ears than it should be.

They switch positions so that Shiro is now on his back with Lance on top. He quickly slicks his cock up as Lance straddles him, grinning wolfishly down at him.

Shiro holds his breath as Lance slowly sinks down his cock, inch by inch, and only releases it after bottoming out. “Are you okay?” he gasps, grabbing Lance’s thigh to steady both of them.

As always, Lance feels _amazing_ , so hot and tight, like he was always meant for Shiro and Shiro alone.

Lance laughs breathlessly, “Never better.” Placing his hands on Shiro’s chest, he pushes himself up a couple inches before dropping back down, punching deep moans out of both of them at the sensation. There is absolutely no way Shiro can get any deeper but Lance sure is trying. “Now fuck me like you mean it, Takashi.”

Shiro doesn’t say anything. Instead, he simply starts rocking his hips like he’s got something to prove. And, in a way, he does. Something about Lance drives him crazy in a way not even being on the ice does.

He knows he’s hit Lance’s prostate when the other man throws his head back, exposing his long, long neck, and keens. It’s a high-pitched note that lights up every nerve in Shiro’s body.

He angles himself so he can keep hitting it.

Lance is a sobbing, gorgeous mess as he leans back and steadies himself on Shiro’s knees. Shiro wishes he can take a picture. “T-Takashi!” he pants. “I’m-I’m gonna—”

Shiro picks up his pace until his balls are slapping against Lance’s ass. “Just let go, baby,” he groans. “I’ve got you.”

And Lance does, painting both of their chests with his pearly white come.

Shiro isn’t far behind. He comes a few heartbeats later and collapses on the bed with a long satisfied moan. He feels Lance pull off and slump down on top of him, followed by the sensation of long nimble fingers carding through his hair. It almost lulls him to sleep.

Almost, because Lance is playfully slapping his arm a minute later. “Ugh, I love you, Takashi, but I refuse to fall asleep covered in dried come.”

Shiro laughs but dutifully gets up to retrieve a wet towel from the ensuite bathroom. When he comes back to the room, he pauses at the foot of the bed and watches Lance, now leaning against the headboard, scroll idly through his phone. It casts a soft cotton candy blue light over his face, making him look like a river spirit.

Shiro thinks, not for the first time and definitely not for the last time, of how much he adores this man in front of him.

 _I have to tell him_ , he thinks, remembering his conversations with Matt and Keith, and with his grandfather.

Feeling Shiro’s eyes on him, Lance looks up and smiles. “You planning on standing there all night or what?”

Shiro smiles back and shakes his head. “Nope, just admiring the view.” He cleans them both up before tossing the used towel into his hamper and slipping into bed, and into Lance’s waiting arms. He entwines their hands together and runs his thumb over Lance’s knuckles.

“Goodnight,” he whispers into Lance’s hair, breathing in his scent. Seawater salt with a hint of pine. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“‘Night, T’kashi,” Lance mumbles back, his breath tickling Shiro’s neck.

 _I’ll tell him soon_ , Shiro resolves before quickly falling asleep, heart beating in sync with Lance’s.

* * *

Lance isn’t surprised when he wakes up just before noon the next day to a post-it on the pillow next to his, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t disappointed.

> _Had to go into the office early._ _Can’t wait to see you tomorrow!_

> _Love,_
> 
> _Takashi xx_

_Sap_ , Lance thinks fondly as he gets out of Takashi’s wonderful king-sized bed and tucks the note in his wallet.

He takes his time in the ensuite bathroom before getting started on brunch. Today’s one of the few days he can afford to take it easy, since he only has one class in the afternoon before he needs to go to work.

He plugs his battered three year-old iPod into Takashi’s much nicer speakers, blasting his upbeat playlist at full volume and singing along to it while he cooks. He’s not as good as Hunk, of course, but he would never turn down playing around in a kitchen that looks like it came straight out of _Masterchef_ when the opportunity is right in front of him. Takashi’s stove top is a nice reprieve from the finicky one in his place (Hunk kindly describes it as “temperamental,” while Pidge flat out calls it “a demon that will one day explode and kill us all.”).

He makes _arroz con pollo_ , courtesy of his _abuela’s_ recipe, setting aside an extra plate for Takashi for when he comes back from work tonight. It doesn’t look or even taste half bad, if he says so himself, so he takes a picture and sends it to Hunk.

> **Me:** check it out! is my husband game strong or what?

> **Hunk a lunk:** whoa! definitely 10/10, would marry that

> **Me:** aw hunk! ilu2

Lance grins as he polishes off his plate. He briefly fantasizes about inviting Hunk and Pidge over for one of their traditional pre-exam stress-relieving baking sessions in the near future.

He doesn’t think Takashi would mind, either. He’s been nothing but the perfect gentleman the few times he crossed paths with Hunk and even started exchanging silly messages with Pidge through the whiteboard they keep in the kitchen. She now firmly believes that he has orange hair.

And, while they haven’t had the ‘move in with me’ conversation yet, Lance is confident it’s only a matter of time. After all, Takashi already gave him the spare key to his condo, along with blanket permission to come over anytime. That has to mean something.

Lance can already feel his cheeks beginning to ache from the undoubtedly dopey smile that’s crept up on his face as he plays with the Rolex Takashi had given him. God, if his friends can see him now, they’d never stop teasing him.

It doesn’t matter, though, because he’s just so _happy_. He loves Takashi and Takashi loves him and, right now, those are the only things that matter.

* * *

Lance is so used to the hallway being empty whenever he comes and goes that he almost jumps at the sight of the tall pink-haired woman coming out of the unit next to Takashi's at the same time. “Shi—I mean, sorry, I didn’t see you there,” Lance laughs, bringing a hand up to rub the back of his neck sheepishly.

The woman blinks at him, glancing between him and Takashi’s door. “It’s no problem,” she says eventually. “Hey, I don’t think I’ve seen you around before. Are you a friend of Shiro’s?”

Lance arches an eyebrow. “Shiro? You mean Takashi?”

Something glimmers in the woman’s eyes. “Oh, yeah! I’m just so used to calling him by his nickname that I sometimes forget that’s his real name.”

Lance makes a mental note to ask Takashi about that. “Yeah, I’m Takashi’s boyfriend.” He holds his hand out for the woman to shake. “I’m Lance, it’s nice to meet you.”

The woman smiles and Lance thinks, briefly, that her teeth are _really_ white. They kind of remind him of the sharks at the aquarium. “Ezor,” the woman practically purrs, taking his hand in a surprisingly strong grip. “It’s a _pleasure_ to meet you, Lance.”

“You too.”

Neither of them speak as they walk to the elevators but Lance is hyper aware of her gaze on his back the entire time. Honestly, it kind of freaks him out, but this is one of Takashi’s neighbours and he’ll be damned if he makes a poor impression.

Once they get in the elevator, Ezor turns to him with that same shark-like smile on her face. “So, Lance, how long have you and Shiro been dating?”

“About six months now, actually.” Lance blushes as memories of last night begin to seep through his mind. Memories of Takashi’s hand, dick, and his _tongue_ —holy crow, he’s going to need another shower if his brain keeps this up.

Ezor lets out a low whistle. “Wow, six months. That’s pretty impressive. Did you two meet at work or something?”

Lance chuckles and explains how they met, and that he’s still in school. “Last year at UDub,” he says when Ezor asks him which school.

“Aw, that’s so cute,” Ezor gushes. She whips her phone out of her purse abruptly, startling Lance slightly. “Sorry, I just need to message someone real quick. You don’t mind, do you?”

Lance shrugs and figures he might as well check his phone as well. He texts Pidge and Hunk to let them know he’s on his way back home and ask if they want him to pick anything up.

He suddenly hears the distinct ‘click’ of a camera shutter and looks up to find Ezor pointing her phone right at him.

“Just taking a selfie,” Ezor tells him brightly.

Lance frowns but doesn’t comment. It’s a reasonable explanation and besides, why would she ever want to take a picture of someone she just met?

 _Weird lady_ , he thinks.

After they part ways at the lobby, he puts all thoughts of Ezor out of his mind. By the time he’s in class, he’s forgotten all about her.


	6. End of Season (March)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allura sighs and swings her computer screen around. “Was this you?” she asks. She doesn’t sound accusatory, though.
> 
> Shiro leans forward to get a better look at the screen, eyes widening and chest tightening when he realizes what he’s looking at.
> 
> Those are pictures of him and Lance. _Together_.
> 
> And they’re on the internet for everyone to see. 
> 
> “I—how did they—”
> 
> He hears Kolivan exhale, “Well, I suppose that answers that question.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which my adoration for The Princess Diaries films makes itself known in this chapter.
> 
> For those of you keeping track, I went back to the first chapter and aged Shiro up by one year when he had his accident (so 16 instead of 15), and changed his debut from the AHL to OHL after doublechecking the respective leagues' rules and realizing it would have been impossible for Shiro to have played in the AHL before he was 18. This change really shouldn't affect the rest of the story, but hey, the more you know!

“You should’ve seen his face when he realized I was his TA instead of Professor Montgomery’s daughter,” Pidge cackles.

Lance and Hunk laugh along with her as they get out of the car and make their way towards campus. It’s the beginning of March, which means the weather is still miserable, so any dreams they might have about walking to campus instead of being forced to deal with Seattle traffic are still just that for now.

“What grade did you end up giving him?” Hunk snickers.

If Lance weren’t already friends with her, he’d have started running away from the unholy smirk on Pidge’s face. “I gave him a C, but only because he made me laugh. He should’ve gotten a D—his essay was _so bad_.”

They pass by a couple of students, which isn’t normally something Lance pays much attention to, except that they do a double take when they see Lance. “Isn’t that—”

The speaker immediately gets shushed by their friend and the two of them scurry away. “Well,” says Lance after a few seconds, “that was weird.”

“They probably just recognized Pidge.” Hunk nudges her. “I mean, you really do look a lot like your brother, especially with your hair cut.”

Pidge shrugs. “You’d think the novelty would have worn off by now.” She sounds more resigned than annoyed, though.

 _But I could’ve sworn they were looking at me_ , Lance thinks. He shakes his head and decides against voicing that out loud because one, Hunk’s explanation makes way more sense, and two, that’s _really_ narcissistic, even for him.

Yet, as Lance goes about the rest of his day, he can’t help feeling like an insect under a microscope. Sure, he knows he’s a good-looking guy and that he’s turned more than a few heads before, but the number of looks he’s getting feels...unwarranted. It’s subtle enough that he’d happily chalk it up as just paranoia but something in his gut tells him he’s not wrong.

He checks his reflection in between classes just in case but can’t find anything wrong with his appearance, unless he suddenly travelled back in time to when people still thought men should never wear pink.

“Is there something wrong with me?” Lance asks Pidge when they meet up for lunch at the Quad. It’s warmer now than it was this morning, so they decided to forego the claustrophobic cafeteria today.

“What _isn’t_ wrong with you?” Pidge teases.

“I’m serious! Have you gotten any more looks since this morning?”

Pidge taps her chin and thinks about it. “Honestly, I have no idea. I wouldn’t have noticed anyway because I’m so used to it. Why?”

“Because either I’m going crazy or I’m getting more looks than I normally do, and I can’t figure out why.”

Pidge raises a skeptical brow. “And you’re sure this isn’t just your ego talking?”

Someone clears their throat and they both look up to see two girls huddling a couple feet away from them and staring at Lance with something like awe in their eyes. “Um, hi,” one of them squeaks.

“Hi…” Lance and Pidge reply slowly.

“Sorry to bother you but—um, we were wondering if you’re the one who’s been dating Takashi Shirogane?”

Lance can hear Pidge suck in her breath but he’s more confused by what the girl just said. “Uh, my boyfriend’s name is Takashi but his last name isn’t Shirogane.”

The girls exchange a frown. The one who hasn’t spoken yet pulls out her phone and unlocks it. “Are you sure about that?” She flips her phone around and hands it over to Lance.

It’s the _Seattle Sun’s_ Twitter account, a tabloid, and— _that’s him and Takashi!_ Lance’s eyes widen as he absorbs the slew of pictures in the tweet—of him and Takashi kissing, Lance laughing so hard he has to press his hand to Takashi’s chest for support, and the two of them holding hands.

Lance instantly recognizes the surroundings as the waterfront, which means that the photo was taken on their last date a few days ago. He has no idea _how_ it was taken, though, because as far as he remembers from that night, he and Takashi were the only people around that part of the waterfront.

But that’s not the problem; what he’s more concerned with right now is the tweet itself, which reads:

_Is this a bromance or something more? Seattle Defenders Captain Takashi Shirogane spotted getting cozy with another man ahead of Playoffs!_

For a fraction of a second, Lance considers the possibility that he’s dreaming and almost laughs in the girl’s face. After all, him, a boy from Cuba, dating an American hockey player? It sounds so ridiculous that he’s pretty sure not even _Hallmark_ would make a movie out of it.

But the pictures are very real, as are the— _holy shit_ , three hundred retweets and five hundred replies. And Lance...doesn’t know what this means.

He doesn’t realize Pidge has been calling his name for the past minute until her hand lands on his shoulder, startling him so badly that he drops the phone. Luckily, it lands on the soft grass with a quiet ‘thunk!’ and its owner looks more worried about Lance than she is about it. “Hey, are you okay?” she asks, brows furrowing.

Lance swallows, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe. He can barely hear anything over the white noise in his ears and it makes his head feel like a staticky TV. “Y-Yeah, I’m—”

“He’ll be fine,” Pidge cuts in, pulling Lance up to his feet. He’s still so out of it that he doesn’t even question it. “Quick question: when did that get tweeted?”

“Just a few hours ago. Uh, I think it was around nine?” the first girl says.

“Do you know if anyone’s figured out who he is?”

“I don’t know, but I saw a few people reply that they’ve seen him around campus.”

Pidge curses. “Okay, thanks a lot.” Before either of the girls can respond, she starts forcibly dragging Lance out of the Quad.

Lance is still too dazed to protest, his mind stubbornly stuck on the tweet. _Seattle Defenders Captain Takashi Shirogane._

Shirogane, not Ryusaki.

As they cross the boundary between campus and the student housing district, Lance finally musters up enough brain power to ask, “Pidge, what are you doing? We still have class.”

Pidge’s eyes are glued to her phone. “Yeah, no, class is the _last_ thing that you should be worried about right now.”

“Huh?”

“There are pictures of you and _Shiro_ floating around on the internet and it’s only a matter of time before they figure out who you are. The best thing we can do now is go on lockdown and let the Defenders’ PR team handle everything.” Pidge shoots him a half-hearted glare over her shoulder. “I can’t _believe_ you were dating Shiro and _I never made the connection!_ Ugh!”

“It’s not my fault he gave me a fake name!” Lance yells, feeling anger rise in him like a volcano about to erupt. “How was I supposed to know?”

Pidge must see some of that on his face because she lets go of his wrist to raise her hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, that’s a fair point.” She lets out a frustrated sigh. “Let’s just get back home first so we can start figuring this out.”

They turn the corner of the last intersection to their place but freeze when they spot a small group of people hovering in their front yard. There are only three of them but they all have cameras—big cameras with even bigger zoom lenses.

What’s worse, the photographers spot them at the same time. “Hey, it’s Lance McClain-Serrano!” one of them calls out, kind of unnecessarily in Lance’s opinion, because he can see from their eyes that they all recognize him. “Hey, kid, do you have any comments about your relationship with Takashi Shirogane?”

“Are you just really good friends or are you more than that?”

“When did your relationship start?”

Pidge grabs Lance’s hand and squeezes it. “Stay behind me, don’t make eye contact with any of them, and _don’t_ say anything.”

And then, before Lance knows it, she’s pushing through them like they’re nothing but water, pulling Lance behind her. Lance squeezes his eyes shut as they keep shouting intrusive questions into his ears. He flinches when one of them presses right up against him but Pidge is immediately at his side, kicking and growling, “ _No. Comment._ ”

Somehow, they reach the front door without any more incidents. The journey could not have taken more than a minute but it felt like years to Lance. As soon as Pidge slams and locks the door behind her, Lance slumps to the floor, feeling as if his limbs have suddenly turned to stone.

“Wh-What was that?” he pants. “How did they get our address? Why do they even care who I am?”

Pidge gives him a sympathetic look and drops down beside him. “Because Shiro is kind of famous, even for a hockey player.” She grimaces. “And it looks like he’s about to get even more famous—he might just become the first out player in the NHL.”

“Is it really that big of a deal?” Lance asks fearfully.

Pidge doesn’t say anything but Lance can hear her answer in the look she gives him. _Oh honey, you have no idea._

* * *

**Mike** @mutt70 · Mar 3

Replying to @seattlesun

damn, that man is prime beef material...and his boyfriend’s not half bad either. I might have to start watching hockey now!

**Julie** @9livesk · Mar 3

Replying to @seattlesun

Shame on you for outing Shiro like that! Who he’s dating, and whatever their gender is, should be no one’s business but his!

**Kaia** @terrawitch · Mar 3

Replying to @seattlesun

I’m not homophobic but I wish they’d keep it in the bedroom. No one needs to see that.

**Dutch** @whiptail · Mar 3

Replying to @seattlesun

dude, not cool. who cares who Shiro’s dating anyway? that doesn’t change the fact that he got 90 points last season. I got your back @shirogane85!

**Tex** @stronghorn · Mar 3

Replying to @seattlesun

Hell yeah, you go Shiro!

**Kane** @theredking · Mar 3

Replying to @seattlesun

Disgusting. I’ve been a Defenders fan since the beginning but I will no longer be supporting them after today #notmycaptain

* * *

They’re on the ice, ostensibly still in the middle of warm up but actually just chatting idly with each other about the upcoming spring gala and other League-related gossip, when Liefsdottir barrels onto the ice, nearly crashing into Ryan.

Kolivan’s eyes bug out. “Liefsdottir, what are you—”

“You need to get off the ice,” she barks.

Shiro would have found it hilarious to witness such a tiny woman glaring defiantly up at a giant like Kolivan if it weren’t for her tone. In the almost three years she’s been reporting on the team, Shiro’s never heard her sound this serious before.

She shows Kolivan her phone. “This got tweeted half an hour ago. You’ve got maybe five minutes until the vultures get here and you need to deal with this as soon as possible.”

Whatever is on her phone seems to be a big deal because Shiro catches Kolivan’s eyes widening briefly before he gives her phone back to her and turns to the rest of the team. “Lockers! _Now!_ ”

They obey without question but that doesn’t stop them from exchanging curious looks with each other. A few of them look to Shiro as if he might have the answers but Shiro simply shrugs. “Your guess is as good as mine,” he mouths.

“Shiro.”

Allura’s voice stops all of them in their tracks. There’s something hard in the woman’s stare. “Can you come with me for a second? You too, Kolivan.”

Shiro nods and follows her to her office, ignoring his teammates’ stares.

Once they're all in her office, Allura shuts the door with an ominous ‘click!’ before going to her desk. Kolivan leans against the edge of the desk and crosses his arms, lips thinned. Shiro lowers himself gingerly in the lone chair in front of the desk. He can’t help feeling like he’s twelve again and had just been called into the principal’s office.

“What’s going on?” he gulps.

Allura sighs and swings her computer screen around. “Was this you?” she asks. She doesn’t sound accusatory, though.

Shiro leans forward to get a better look at the screen, eyes widening and chest tightening when he realizes what he’s looking at.

Those are pictures of him and Lance. _Together_.

And they’re on the internet for everyone to see.

“I—how did they—”

He hears Kolivan exhale, “Well, I suppose that answers that question.”

Allura gives him a sympathetic look. “According to some of our media contacts, one of your neighbours is the source of the leak.”

Shiro’s entire body goes cold. Neither Allura or Kolivan look angry with him but he’s known them both long enough to know that doesn’t mean anything. “I’m sorry,” he blurts out. Sorry that this had to happen at such a crucial point in the season, sorry that the rest of the team is going to be subjected to even _more_ media scrutiny now because of him, sorry that he had waited too long to tell Lance the truth.

Oh god, _Lance_. There’s no way he hasn’t heard about this by now. What must he be thinking? Is he okay? Where is he?

“Shiro, there’s no need to apologize,” says Allura, snapping Shiro back to the present. She gives him a small but gentle smile, which eases his anxiety a little. “Unless you were the one who called the paps on yourself, then this isn’t your fault.”

Shiro slumps in his seat. “I guess, but I can’t help thinking that I should have been more careful.” Even with the baseball cap he always, always wore whenever he went out with Lance, there is no denying that it’s Shiro in the photos. The hair, scar, and prosthetic are dead giveaways.

Kolivan huffs. “You know how the vultures are. It was only a matter of time.” He drops his arms to his side. “I have some idea of what’s happening here but I’d prefer to hear it from you.”

“I’d like to, as well, if that’s alright,” adds Allura. She bites her bottom lip, looking apologetic. “Shiro, I understand that this is a great invasion of privacy, but with the way things are now, it will really help us to have as much information as possible. That way, we can begin planning our next move.”

Shiro shakes his head. “N-No, it’s okay, I don’t _mind_ you knowing, exactly. It’s just that...it never crossed my mind that people would find out like this.” He takes a deep breath before reciting the words he’s been keeping to himself for months, “I’m gay. And that’s Lance, my boyfriend. We started dating a few months ago but that’s about it.”

Allura nods. “I suspected as much and I don’t blame you for keeping it a secret for so long. I do wish you were telling us all of this under better circumstances, though.” She turns her computer around and starts typing on it. “Moving forward, we need to decide how we’re going to handle this. We can deny the rumours and claim that the pictures have been doctored. Or…” she trails off and meets Shiro’s gaze. “...we could hold a press conference and confirm them.”

“Whatever your choice is, the team will back you up all the way,” Kolivan declares.

And for one heartbeat, Shiro seriously considers Allura’s first option. The pictures are pretty grainy, clearly taken with some sort of superzoom lens, so it’ll be easy enough to say they’re fake. Shiro and Lance would just have to be more careful with keeping their relationship a secret in the future.

...But that’s if there _is_ a relationship after this. Shiro knows that Lance doesn’t begrudge his secrecy but he suspects that this would be asking for too much, even for someone with such an easygoing personality.

Just thinking about asking Lance—kind, wonderful, beautiful Lance—to pretend that he doesn’t know Shiro, that the last few months never happened, leaves such a bad taste in Shiro’s mouth that he almost gags. No, he can’t do that to Lance. Shiro owes him this much at least.

But he can also admit that a part of him is relieved that he no longer has to keep these two parts of his life secret anymore, no matter what the fallout will be. He has Allura, Kolivan, and his linemates’ support, and that already goes a long way.

Shiro straightens his back and clenches his fists against his legs. “I think I’ve hidden this part of myself long enough,” he says.

“You weren’t hiding,” Allura chides him lightly, “you were simply protecting yourself in an environment that is historically rife with toxic masculinity.”

“So, a press conference, then?” asks Kolivan. He looks more annoyed at the realization that they likely won’t be able to get any more training done today than anything else.

Shiro nods. “Yeah.”

Allura claps her hands together. “Brilliant. Give me half an hour to beat the board into submission and then we’ll get the ball rolling.”

“Only half an hour?” Shiro asks, bemused.

Allura smirks and bats her eyelashes at them. “That’s how long it took me to persuade them to vote me in as president. Trust me, this will be _nothing_ compared to that.”

* * *

Shiro counts no fewer than ten phones when he and Kolivan enter the locker room. All chatter grinds to a halt as soon as they step through the door and Shiro feels the weight of everyone’s knowing eyes on him like projectiles. _At least I don’t have to explain what happened_ , he thinks wryly.

“I’ll cut to the chase,” Kolivan calls out in a booming voice. “Yes, the pictures are real and yes, Shiro is currently dating a man. There will be a press conference shortly, which Allura, Shiro, and myself will attend. I’ll let Shiro explain the particulars _if he so chooses_.” He folds his arms and scans the room with narrowed eyes. “And, while this really should go unsaid, I want to make it clear that Shiro has my full support. If anyone has a problem with that, I suggest you let Coran and myself know now so we can work on finding another team that you may be a better fit for as soon as possible. There is no place for intolerance on this team, do I make myself clear?”

Shiro catches a few people looking away guiltily but not as many as he’d been expecting, surprisingly. None of them are people he is particularly close with anyway. In the corner, Coran gives him a thumbs up and a warm smile.

“That shouldn’t even be a question,” says Keith, who is sitting closest to them. He smiles up at Shiro. “I’ve got your back, Shiro.”

“Me too,” adds Matt. “And if anyone has a problem with who you’re dating, they can take it up with me.”

“Yeah!” 

“They’ll have to go through us before they can get to you!”

Shiro is floored. The fear that his team would reject him because of his sexuality—and maybe even drop him entirely if they turned out to be bigoted enough—had been in the back of his mind for so long that, now that he’s faced with support instead of scorn, he doesn’t know what to do.

Allura and Kolivan’s easy acceptance had already been a pleasant surprise but this—this feels like a dream.

He doesn’t realize how stiffly he had been carrying himself until his shoulders start sagging, the weight he’d been carrying on his shoulders for so many years finally evaporating. “Thank you, everyone, really,” he says wetly, feeling tears prickling the corners of his eyes. “I really appreciate it.” He tries to discreetly rub his eyes but knows he’s failed when Keith touches his arm, grounding him.

Kolivan clears his throat and the room falls silent again. “I’ll take my leave now. If anyone needs me, I’ll be assisting Allura with setting up the press conference. _Behave_.” The unspoken warning to stay away from social media for the time being rings loud and clear.

The crew begins to disperse as well, most likely to go about their regular duties, but the team stays put. There’s not much they can do—they can’t go on the ice, since it’s likely overrun with reporters by now, and they can’t exactly leave for the same reason. Shiro catches a handful of furtive looks shot his way but no one says anything.

He eventually sighs into the silence, “Okay, you can each ask _one_ question.” Antok’s hand is the first to shoot up. “Yes, Antok?”

“Is anal better than pussy?”

It really says a lot about the Defenders as a team that Shiro isn’t even phased by his question. He might have blushed at this kind of language ten years ago, back when he started his NHL career, but this is just par for the course now. What’s worse is Antok sounds like he genuinely wants to know. Crazy Russian.

“I wouldn’t know, seeing as how I’m gay and have never been with a woman,” Shiro deadpans.

“Yeah, dumbass!” Vrek jeers from the other side of the room.

The floodgates open as the rest of the team asks Shiro the usual questions about Lance, like how they met and what Lance does for a living. Shiro is pleasantly surprised that no one asks which one of them 'wears the pants' in their relationship but then again, he supposes there are certain lines that teammates will never cross, no matter how friendly they are with one another.

 _That, or they might just be afraid of what the answer will be_ , Shiro thinks with a smirk.

Finally, Ulaz is the only one with his hand left in the air. “When will we get to meet him?” he asks. ‘When,’ not ‘if.’

Shiro smiles warmly at him. “Soon.”

_I hope._

* * *

“ _...Shirogane spent two weeks in the hospital with severe brain trauma on top of losing his arm,_ ” Lance reads from the article on his laptop, feeling his heart shatter. “H-He almost died,” he chokes out.

Takashi never told him _that_ part about his accident. Or that the game his parents were driving him from was a _junior league hockey game_. Truthfully, Lance still doesn’t really understand what that means but Pidge assured him it was a big deal before grabbing Hunk, who almost had to punch his way through the reporters currently barricading their front door just to get inside the house, and putting him in charge of keeping Lance away from all social media until she “can get everything sorted out.”

Lance still has no idea what her plan is because, even with Matt Holt as her brother, it’s not like they can shut the barn door now that the horse is long gone.

Hunk squeezes his shoulder. “That’s so messed up.” 

Lance continues scrolling through the article. “ _But Shirogane did not let that slow him down. Two years later, following an incredible recovery, he joined the Marlies and led the team to the Calder Cup. He was nineteen when he made his NHL debut with the Toronto Maple Leafs and spent the next seven years with the team before being selected by the Seattle Defenders during its NHL Expansion Draft, of which he is now captain._ ”

There are two pictures of Takashi at the very bottom of the article. The one on the left was clearly taken before the accident, because he doesn’t have his scar and his hair is still black. He’s surrounded by his teammates as they pose for the camera, all of them wearing jerseys that seem far too big for their small frames. Shiro has such a big smile on his face that Lance can see his dimples

_God, he looked so young._

The one on the right is more recent. It shows Takashi skating leisurely on the ice, this time wearing the Seattle Defenders jersey. He’s grinning at something the shorter Asian man next to him is saying.

“That’s Keith Kogane, number one draft pick last year,” Hunk supplies. When Lance just gives him a blank look, he adds, “That means he’s _insanely_ good. Shiro was third overall when he got drafted and he’s considered one of the best players in the league right now. Kogane is a _beast_.”

“Oh,” says Lance, feeling faint.

He turns back to the image of Takashi in the second picture and bites his bottom lip as his eyes trace the man’s open face, the smooth line of his shoulders, and the way his hockey stick dangles in his gloved hand like it’s an extension of his arm. Lance has never seen him look so at ease before.

Sure, Lance has seen him happy before and would even like to think he’s contributed to his boyfriend’s happiness, but this—this is different.

Takashi looks like this is exactly where he belongs. And Lance is afraid there won’t be any room for him in that world.

He glances at Shiro's hydrangeas, which are sitting innocently on the dining table by the window, and scowls. _Ugh, why are_ you _the one getting upset about this?_ , he scolds himself. _You should be angry at Takashi for keeping this from you!_

And while he is mad, Lance can’t help thinking that the normal relationship rules might not apply here. It would have been one thing if it turned out Takashi had been keeping a mountainous student debt secret from him or something, but this feels so much bigger than that because Takashi is a _famous professional hockey player_. And, if Wikipedia is to be believed, he currently makes about _seven million dollars a year_. That’s...a lot of money. In fact, Lance is willing to bet it’s more than what his entire family’s income is. And that’s including extended relatives.

Lance’s phone buzzes on the coffee table, showing Veronica’s name on the screen. He instinctively reaches for it but Hunk snatches it up first. “Uh-uh, what did Pidge say?” Hunk asks, putting the phone back on sleep.

Lance rolls his eyes but dutifully answers, “Not to even think about touching my phone until she gives the go-ahead.” He makes a half-hearted swipe for it anyway. “Come on, Hunk, it’s my sister! At least let me tell her what’s going on.”

“Nope,” says Hunk, leaning all the way back against the arm of the couch and holding the phone over his head. “Not gonna happen.”

“It’s not like she’s going to tell anyone!”

“Doesn’t mean that the media won’t find out,” Pidge says cryptically as she descends the stairs. To her own phone, she says, “And you’re sure about that?”

A few seconds later, she nods and replies to whoever’s on the other line, “Okay, will do.” She glances at their door. “And if you could get your people to do something about the vultures camping outside our door, that would be great.” She chuckles at the response. “Well, what else are you good for if not that? Anyway, love you, too. Bye.”

“Was that Matt?” Hunk asks.

Pidge nods and drops down on the couch, sandwiching Lance in the middle with Hunk on the other side. She grabs the remote and switches the TV on. “Well, they found the leak.”

“The leak?” Lance echoes dumbly.

“Yeah, it turns out one of Shiro’s neighbours saw you coming out of his place and sent a tip to the _Sun_. Got a stupidly big payout, too. Needless to say, Shiro’s probably going to move after the playoffs.”

Lance has vague memories of the weird pink-haired girl he met a few days ago and shudders. Just knowing that a complete stranger was willing to do all that for money makes him feel violated.

“Anyway, that’s irrelevant. What matters now is the press conference.”

Lance nearly falls off the couch in his scramble to unfold his legs and sit up straight. “Wait, _what?_ ”

“The press conference,” Pidge repeats patiently. “That was quicker than I expected, to be honest, but I guess it makes sense that Allura would want to nip this in the bud.”

Lance wants to ask who this Allura is but the question dies on his lips when Shiro appears on the screen. He’s sitting at the center of a conference table with what looks like a hundred microphones in his face. On his right is a freakishly tall Scandinavian man with long grey hair that falls in a braid over his shoulder. A gorgeous black woman with silver white hair and piercing blue eyes sits on his other side.

Shiro clears his throat, which Lance can barely hear over the sound of camera shutters clicking rapidly in the background, and grins shyly at the camera. An invisible rope constricts around Lance’s neck, making it a struggle to breathe. Shiro doesn’t _look_ that different from the last time Lance saw him but that doesn’t stop Lance from feeling like he’s looking at a stranger.

“ _Hi, thank you all for coming on such short notice. I know that you all have questions regarding the pictures that have recently appeared online, courtesy of the_ Seattle Sun.” Despite his anger, Lance can’t help snorting at the subtle drag. “ _Before I address any questions that you have, there is something I’d like to say first._

“ _I’m gay._ ” Lance, Hunk, and Pidge gasp in time with the reporters on screen. “ _This means that I am attracted to men. I am currently in a relationship with the man I was pictured with and that is all I have to say about that. If you have any further questions about him, please respect his privacy and direct them to me rather than him. I’d really like to not scare him away more than I probably already have._ ”

The statement comes out as a joke but Lance can hear the underlying worry in the man’s voice. _Takashi’s afraid? Of losing me?_ , he thinks, heart pounding erratically in his chest. Against his will, his anger dissipates slightly.

“ _Aaand that’s it. Any questions?_ ”

Every single hand in the room shoots up and the woman sitting next to Takashi points at one of them. “ _Allura, Kolivan, how do you feel about this revelation?_ ”

The woman, Allura, beams. “ _My opinion of Shiro as both a player and friend has not changed. In fact, my admiration has even increased. While I will never fully understand the nuances and difficulties faced by the LGBT community, I know that coming out is not always easy. I’m honoured that Shiro has chosen to share such a deeply personal side of himself with the organization._ ”

Pidge whistles. “Damn, she’s good.”

“Who exactly is she?” Lance asks.

“She’s the president of the Defenders...” Pidge explains.

“That means she’s Shiro’s boss,” Hunk adds.

“...and her dad owns the team,” continues Pidge. “But trust me, that has nothing to do with her being president now. She got the job all on her own merit.”

On the screen, the man who is apparently called Kolivan nods in agreement. “ _I completely agree with Allura. As far as I’m concerned, my players’ personal lives are their business and theirs alone._ ” The way he glares at the camera makes it obvious that he is directing the statement at the people responsible for the photos in the first place.

“ _Aren’t you afraid of how this will impact Shiro’s performance in the future? Especially now that the team has all but secured a spot in the playoffs?_ ” asks another reporter.

“Oh, fuck off,” Hunk hisses with a surprising amount of venom.

Kolivan sneers at the reporter. “ _About Shiro dating? Are you suggesting that I should be worried about the rest of the team as well? After all, nearly all of them are currently in relationships, too._ ”

The camera zooms in on the reporter’s face, which now resembles a squashed lemon.

Another reporter, a freckled woman with a blonde bowl cut, raises her hand. Shiro visibly relaxes as he calls out, “ _Liefsdottir?_ ”

“ _Shiro, is there anything you would like to say to other athletes who might not be out at this time?_ ” Liefsdottir asks.

Shiro smiles. “ _Yes, in fact, I do._ ” Looking straight at the camera, Shiro continues, “ _There is no shame in being gay, bi, trans, or what-have-you. Neither is there shame in being in the closet. But no matter what your circumstances are, please remember to stay true to yourself. There are people who love you for who you are. Don’t be afraid to reach out to them if you need to. You might be surprised by what you might find._ ”

The following questions are more mundane in comparison and the press conference ends shortly afterwards. None of them move until a car commercial comes on, which prompts Pidge to turn the TV off. “Well, that was a thing,” she says.

“Man, I can’t believe we had an NHL player coming by our house for months and we never figured it out,” says Hunk.

Pidge pouts at him. “Lance, I can forgive for not making the connection, but _you_? Hunk, I even took you to a couple of Defenders game!”

“Yeah, but Shiro was always wearing a helmet! How was I supposed to remember what he looked like? Also, if you hadn’t been so busy, you might have actually seen him and figured it out earlier.”

“It’s not my fault my thesis has literally been murdering me…”

Lance tunes their banter out when he sees his phone buzzing on the coffee table where Hunk placed it some time ago and picks it up. Even though he had been expecting it, his heart still stutters when he reads the notification. 

> **Takashi <3:** Hey, can we talk?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I may or may not have borrowed some _Motorcity_ characters for the Twitter portion of this chapter.
> 
> (Motorcity was a fantastic Titmouse and Disney XD show that was cancelled far too soon. It's worth watching for the [Duke and his tank which shoots out _stretch limos_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ulQtpht27PA) alone)


	7. End of Season (March)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hey, why don’t you come with me to our gala next week? You can get to know the guys on my team.”
> 
> Lance’s jaw drops. “What? Are you serious?”
> 
> “Yeah. They’re really excited to meet you. And…” Takashi blushes and glances away briefly before continuing more shyly, “...well, I always thought those events were kind of boring. But I think I’d enjoy them more if you were there, too.”
> 
> If that didn’t do it for Lance, the fact that Takashi looks genuinely happy about the idea would have been the final nail in the coffin for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did someone order a ~~ball~~ gala chapter? :D 
> 
> (It was me, I ordered it.)
> 
> Again, thank you so much for all the feedback so far! We're almost at the homestretch now and I'm excited to hear what you think! :)

In the end, they decide to meet at Hunk’s family’s restaurant. It’s in the northeast, within the borders of Lake City, and out of the way enough that they won’t have to worry about Takashi getting recognized. Hunk also promised that he, his dad, and uncle would be nearby in case they need to run interference.

It’s far from neutral territory but Lance finds that he doesn’t really care about that. Takashi is the one who lied to him, after all. _He deserves this_ , an ugly part of him thinks, even as he rubs at Takashi’s Rolex on his wrist.

Lance immediately spots Takashi seated at the back of the restaurant when he and Hunk arrive, baseball cap and all. Thankfully, it’s the middle of the day, so there aren’t that many people around, and none of them are paying them any attention.

Hunk squeezes Lance’s shoulder and wishes him good luck before heading for the kitchen. Lance squares his shoulders and takes a deep breath before walking towards Takashi’s table.

Takashi’s eyes widen when he sees Lance and he jolts out of his chair so violently that it makes a harsh scraping sound across the floor. He tries to pull Lance’s chair out for him but Lance gets to it before he can.

“Um, hi,” says Takashi.

“Hi,” Lance says frostily. He feels a rush of vindication when Takashi winces guiltily. “So, should I call you 'Shiro' now or what?”

“You can still call me Takashi,” the other man replies meekly. “I—uh, actually prefer you calling me that, but it’s up to you.”

Lance keeps his face as blank as a stone, even as his heart rate picks up a little at Takashi’s confession. “Okay.” He leans back in his chair and stares at Takashi expectantly, waiting for his next move.

Takashi shifts awkwardly in his seat and clears his throat. “Er, did you want anything?” he asks. The sight of a muscular six-foot-two man ( _Professional hockey player with a seven-figure salary_ , Lance’s brain hisses) looking so cowed would be funny if it weren’t for—well, everything else. “I’m not really that hungry but you should order something. It’s on me.”

“Hunk knows what I want,” Lance tells him dryly. He glances over his shoulder and waves at Hunk from where he’s been standing by the entrance to the kitchen. Hunk gives him a thumbs up before disappearing back into the kitchen.

They sit in awkward silence for the next few minutes as they wait for Lance’s food to arrive. Takashi opens his mouth a couple times to say something but always loses steam and clams up at the last second. Even on their first date, Takashi hadn’t been this nervous. It’s both fascinating and jarring to witness.

Lance knows he could easily alleviate some of the awkwardness by saying something but he’s never been above being petty and he sure doesn’t plan on cutting that habit now.

(And if it’s also because he has no fucking idea where to even start—well, no one else has to know except him.)

Finally, Hunk arrives with Lance’s food and a tall glass of water that’s more ice than water for Takashi. He doesn’t say anything but shoots Takashi a nasty glare over his shoulder as he returns to the kitchen. Lance knows Takashi sees it because his eyes drop to the table and he hunches his shoulders up to his ears, looking so much like Sylvio when he’s been caught bullying Nadia that he almost bursts out laughing. Instead, he hides it in a cough behind his napkin and smiles gratefully at his best friend.

Takashi clears his throat, claps his hands together, and looks up at Lance. He looks even more nervous than he’d been at the press conference and something about that calms Lance’s anger...but only slightly. “I’m sorry,” Takashi says, the words tumbling out of his mouth like a rockfall. “I lied to you and I shouldn’t have done that.”

“No shit,” Lance says without thinking. His anger crumbles a little more when Takashi flinches at his callousness and he immediately regrets it. Yeah, Lance is still furious, but he’s not an asshole, damn it. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that—”

“It’s okay, I deserved that,” says Takashi. He’s even _smiling_ at Lance like he just did something endearing. “I only lied about the—the hockey thing…”

_‘The hockey thing’—hah! That’s certainly one way to put it._

“...because I was afraid of how you’d react if you knew who I was,” Takashi exhales. “It’s not an excuse, I know, but this is the only explanation I can give.”

“You really thought I’d start treating you differently?” Lance asks, unable to keep the hurt from bleeding through his voice. Does Takashi really think so little of him?

He must hear the question Lance is really asking because his face pales and he hurriedly reaches across the table to grasp Lance’s hands. “God, no! It’s not that at all and the last thing I want is for you to think that.” He swallows and continues hoarsely, “Adam and I broke up because he couldn’t deal with my career taking up so much of my time and...I was afraid the same thing might happen with you, too.”

And the thing is...Lance _understands_. He can’t begrudge Takashi for feeling like he had to keep his job a secret, especially when Lance can’t even confidently say he wouldn’t have started acting at least a little bit differently once he found out he was dating a celebrity. He can also very easily see things from Adam’s perspective. Committing to a long-term relationship with your high school sweetheart is one thing, signing up to date a high profile professional athlete with an army of fans is something that’s a whole galaxy away.

“I get it,” Lance says quietly. “And I know that you were just doing what you thought was best for you, but I’m still hurt that I had to find out from a freakin’ stranger. And that Pidge, Hunk, and I got mobbed at our own house.” The reporters were gone by the next day and Lance has no doubt that the Defenders were responsible for that, but it was still a humiliating experience. If their neighbours didn’t know who Lance was before, they sure do now.

Takashi looks distraught. “I’m so sorry.” He squeezes Lance’s hands. “You should never have had to go through that. I already talked to our media team but I’ll deal with the paps myself if they become a problem again. You can stay over at mine if you want—you, Hunk, and Pidge.”

Lance ducks his head, unable to look at the other man anymore. He hates that Takashi is so sincere. It’s making it far too easy for him to get swept off his feet again.

“No, it’s okay,” he says eventually. He looks up again to find Takashi gazing at him with bright wet eyes. Compared to his poker face during the press conference, the expression on Takashi’s face now is so open and _raw_ that Lance almost wants to pretend the last week never happened, just so the other man won’t look like that anymore.

Almost.

“I’m still mad at you but I don’t want to be,” Lance tells him. “I just...want to know what we’re supposed to do now.”

Takashi’s entire face lights up with hope. It’s tentative and he clearly knows he isn’t out of the woods yet, but he looks like a man at sea who is willing to take any rope tossed his way. “Nothing has to change,” he says in a rush, like he desperately _needs_ Lance to know this. At the skeptical look Lance gives him, he amends, “Okay, people will probably start approaching us in public but I’ll handle that. And I swear you’ll never have to deal with the media ever again.”

Takashi begins rubbing his thumb over Lance’s knuckles, an action he’s done plenty of times and never failed to comfort Lance before. Now? Lance feels like there’s a hurricane inside of him, pulling him in multiple directions at once.

He wants to forgive Takashi—is already halfway there, if he’s honest—but he also doesn’t know if he wants to make that final leap from _Lance, ordinary boy from Cuba_ , to _Lance, ordinary boy from Cuba who is now dating a famous professional athlete._

“Things are going to get more hectic in the next month with the playoffs and everything,” Takashi admits. “And we probably won’t be able to see each other for a while. But once it’s over, I’m all yours.”

 _At least until the next season starts_ , he doesn’t say. Lance still knows very little about hockey and the politics of the sport, but he knows that much from what Pidge told him.

Takashi’s head suddenly pops up and Lance can almost see a lightbulb flicker on above his head. “Hey, why don’t you come with me to our gala next week? You can get to know the guys on my team.”

Lance’s jaw drops. “What? Are you serious?”

“Yeah. They’re really excited to meet you. And…” Takashi blushes and glances away briefly before continuing more shyly, “...well, I always thought those events were kind of boring. But I think I’d enjoy them more if you were there, too.”

If that didn’t do it for Lance, the fact that Takashi looks genuinely happy about the idea would have been the final nail in the coffin for him.

“Okay,” he says, heart skipping a beat when Takashi gives him a blinding smile, like he’d just struck a mountain of gold.

As they tentatively move on to talking about how their respective weeks have been, like this is just another normal date for them, Lance gulps down the bitter trepidation in his throat.

 _It’s just a party_ , he thinks to himself. Okay, it’ll be a much fancier party than the ones he’s been to before, but this time Takashi will be there. _What could go wrong?_

* * *

Lance has never been more grateful that Pidge’s brother is Matt ‘The Hack’ Holt (which is apparently the hockey fandom’s nickname for him) until now. “You owe me big time for this,” Pidge mutters as she puts her mascara on, glaring at her reflection in the mirror.

Next to her in their incredibly cramped bathroom, Lance finishes combing his hair. “I already told you I would cover all your chores during finals.”

Pidge sticks her tongue out at his reflection. “Yeah, I’m beginning to have second thoughts about that.”

Meanwhile, Hunk is leaning against the wall outside of the bathroom, watching them intently as he snacks on his chips. “But you’re getting free food and drinks at the _Four Seasons_ ,” he protests, “and you get to rub elbows with the rich and famous.”

“Boooring! I would gladly trade places with you right now if I could. I’d much rather stay home and watch Talia eat bugs instead,” says Pidge, referring to her beloved Venus flytrap.

She gives her makeup a once-over before nodding, satisfied, and capping her mascara. “Besides, the only reason any of them ever give me a second glance is so they can get an in with Matt. Or at least they _think_ they can.”

Lance gulps at his own reflection. The suit he’s wearing is a rental that looked decent enough when he and Hunk picked it up from the store a couple days ago. And now that the prospect of dealing with people who belong in this whole other exotic world is no longer just a possibility, but an _inevitability_ , he can’t help but feel like a kid playing around in a cheap high school drama while everyone else has already been on Broadway.

Takashi and Matt arrive a few minutes later in beautifully tailored suits that look like they cost at least twice as much as Lance, Hunk, and Pidge’s rent combined.

Hunk deliberately blocks their entrance, crosses his arms over his chest, and narrows his eyes at Takashi. “So, Mister Contractor, what do you have to say for yourself?”

Takashi winces. “I’m sorry,” he says, looking straight at Lance from over Hunk’s shoulder. “I should never have lied about my job. That was really shitty of me.”

Hunk sizes him up for a few more seconds before stepping away from the door and letting them in. “Alright, but you’re still on thin ice.” He pauses. “And that was not a pun!”

Matt, who turns out to be surprisingly lean compared to what Lance expected, cocks his head at Lance after Pidge officially introduces them. “So _you’re_ Lance,” he says in the tone of someone who’s had to hear that name a lot recently. “I can’t believe I didn’t make the connection before all this.”

“I can’t believe that you’re not actually Goku’s long-lost twin brother,” Pidge teases good-naturedly, elbowing Takashi in the side.

“And _I_ can’t believe I didn’t realize you were Lance’s roommate,” Takashi tells her. He runs his gaze down Lance’s body appreciatively, which goes a long way to easing some of Lance’s anxiety. “You look good,” he says, voice warm and syrupy.

Lance blushes and has to look away. He feels even more off-kilter than he’d been on their first date and doesn’t know what to do with that. “Thanks, you too.” he replies shyly.

“Does anyone else feel like this is prom all over again or is it just me?” Matt teases. His eyes sparkle in the same playful way Pidge’s do when she’s feeling especially fond.

Pidge scoffs, “You didn’t even go to your prom, you dork. You already got your GED by then and were at a game anyway. It was a whole thing, remember?”

“Hey! I’ve seen enough movies to grasp the concept.”

Hunk grins and whips his phone out. “Does this mean I can take awkward prom photos?” he asks eagerly.

“ _Yes,_ ” Matt cheers at the same time Pidge groans, “Oh god, _please_ no.”

The Holts’ easy banter gradually loosens the knot between Lance’s shoulder blades as they go through the motions of actually taking a picture and eventually piling into the car, with Matt and Pidge up front.

Lance jumps when he feels warm fingers tangle in his but quickly relaxes when he remembers that it’s only Takashi. “Hey,” says Takashi, leaning closer to him so their shoulders are brushing. “You okay? You’ve been pretty quiet since we picked you up.”

Lance nods and squeezes back. “Yeah, I’m just a little nervous. This kind of thing just doesn’t happen to people like me, you know?”

Takashi chuckles and rubs his thumb over the back of Lance’s hand. “Believe me, this is not what I saw for myself when I first started learning how to skate as a kid. You’ll be fine. I’ll be there with you all the way and, if not, Katie— _Pidge_ can show you the ropes.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Takashi sounds like he really believes it, too. “You don’t need to prove yourself to anybody,” he says, answering the unspoken question that had been hanging over Lance’s head all week. “Just be yourself.”

Lance rests his head on Takashi’s shoulder. “If you say so.”

* * *

While Lance has passed by the _Four Seasons_ too many times to count on his way to work, he’s never been inside it until now. It looks exactly like what he always imagined a five-star luxury hotel should be but he’s too distracted by all the cameras and swarm of people that greet them as soon as they step into the lobby to appreciate it fully.

He knows he’s not imagining it when he feels hundreds of eyes on him and Takashi as they enter the ballroom. He almost has to shout over the club music when he points this out to Takashi. “They’re just curious,” Takashi explains. He wraps his arm around Lance’s waist and pulls him right up against his side. He’s wearing the moon cufflinks Lance gave him on Valentine’s Day. “If they have a problem with me, then they can use their words. Otherwise, just ignore them.”

“I would honestly pay to see someone try to tell _you_ that you can’t bring your boyfriend here when you’ve got Allura, Kolivan, and Coran backing you up,” Matt snickers.

“Coran? Who’s that?” Lance asks.

“Ah, that would be me.”

A smiling ginger man with an impressive moustache pops up in front of them. “Lance, right?” he says, shaking Lance’s hand enthusiastically. “It’s such a pleasure to finally meet you! I’m Coran Hieronymus Wimbleton Smythe, the general manager for the Defenders.”

“Uh, hi, it’s nice to meet you, too. I...don’t know what that means,” says Lance, blushing when his brain catches up to his mouth.

But instead of looking offended, Coran’s smile widens. “That’s alright. I’m usually behind the scenes anyway.”

Lance gives Takashi a confused look, who smiles understandingly. “Coran’s in charge of trading and signing players. He’s also there to keep us in line in the rare event that Kolivan—our coach—isn’t there,” he explains.

“The hierarchy of who we listen to basically goes from Allura, to Kolivan, to Coran,” adds Matt.

Coran huffs indignantly. “Why am I last? It should be from Allura, to me, _then_ Kolivan.”

Matt smirks. “No offense, but I’m a hell of a lot more terrified of Kolivan than I am of you.”

Takashi suddenly turns away to cough into his sleeve but Lance isn’t fooled; he knows what his boyfriend’s laugh sounds like, including when he’s clearly trying to hide it.

Coran crosses his arms over his chest but the twitch of his lips betrays his amusement. “I could always trade you to Ottawa,” he threatens.

Matt gasps in feigned outrage and even slaps his hand over his chest. Pidge laughs gleefully at his side, having long given up on any pretence of being the mature adult her driver’s licence claims she is. “You wouldn’t dare!”

“What’s wrong with Ottawa?” Lance asks curiously.

Takashi and Matt both groan. “What _isn’t_ wrong with them?” Matt mutters.

They chat with Coran a little longer before a couple approaches them and asks for a picture. Lance and Pidge gracefully step out of the way and wait for them to finish before returning to their sides. Lance has to resist the knee-jerk urge to look away when the couple eyes him shrewdly over the top of their noses, like he’s an auction item they’ve found wanting.

The next half hour continues along this vein as other guests, all of them dressed like movie stars who should be on a red carpet somewhere, come up to make conversation and take pictures with Takashi and Matt. Lance ignores the inevitable judgmental looks sent his way but he’d be lying if he said they didn’t bother him.

Takashi’s grip is the only thing that keeps him grounded throughout the whole ordeal.

They’re eventually herded to the center of the ballroom for photo ops with the rest of the team. As Takashi patiently introduces his teammates to him, Lance can’t help gaping at just how _huge_ they are compared to the pictures he saw in his cursory Google search a few days ago.

“It’s nice to meet you, Lance,” a brunet roughly around his age tells him. Lance thinks his name is James. “Were you the one who all but mauled our captain back in October? Because that was impressive.”

Lance and Takashi both blush as snickers echo around them. “Why do you even remember that?” Takashi glowers. The man simply gives him a wide shit-eating grin, which stays on his face even when Takashi lunges at him and gives him a noogie. After that, it’s like a switch has been flipped on, because the rest of them easily falls into roughhousing with each other, although they’re careful not to mess up each other’s suits too much.

“They’re just chirping each other,” Pidge explains when she catches the confusion all over Lance’s face.

“Are they like this all the time?” Lance asks. The whole tableau reminds him eerily of the frat boys he’s seen around campus.

Pidge sighs. “Oh yeah. Both on _and_ off the ice.”

Once the team’s photos are done, one of the photographers calls out, “Hey, let’s get one with the wives and girlfriends—” He catches Lance’s eye and clears his throat, “Er, I mean partners.”

Lance somehow finds himself smack dab in the middle of a row of blondes, all of whom easily look like they could be _Victoria’s Secret_ models. Hell, he’s pretty sure at least one of them _is_ a professional model. Suddenly feeling very self-conscious of his brown skin and being the only man in the line, he hunches his shoulders and bends his knees slightly, trying to make himself look shorter.

“Excuse me, you’re kind of in my way,” the woman on his left tells him.

“Oh, sorry!” Lance shifts so his shoulder is no longer blocking her head.

She gives him a beatific smile. “Is this your first gala?” she asks politely.

“It’s my first hockey anything,” Lance answers sheepishly.

“Is that right?” The girl gives him a shrewd look but doesn’t elaborate. She abruptly turns to face the photographers in front of them and smiles breezily for their cameras.

Lance takes that as his cue to paste a smile on his face as well, hoping he doesn’t look as nervous as he feels. As much as he always purported to love glamour, this is beyond anything he’s ever daydreamed about before.

He tries to ignore the barrage of blinding flashes and focus on the encouraging thumbs up that Takashi gives him instead.

“Welcome to the WAG club,” Pidge tells him afterwards. She cocks her head to the side, thinking, before adding, “Well, I guess they might have to change it to something else now with you joining their ranks.”

“WAG?”

“It’s the acronym for wives and girlfriends,” Takashi explains. At the pained look on Lance’s face, he quickly adds, “And it’s _not_ an official NHL term.”

Later, the MC announces that food is about to be served, so they make their way to their table.

A pale Asian girl with blue hair takes the seat to Lance’s left. “Hi, I’m Acxa, Keith’s fiancée,” she says, giving him a firm handshake. “Full disclosure: women on the internet write gay fanfiction about our partners.”

The Asian man Lance recognizes as Keith Kogane, who’s sitting on her other side, chokes on his drink. “Why do you always have to bring that up?” he groans.

On Lance’s right, Takashi slaps his palm over his face. “Keith, you know she’s written some of them, too, right?”

Lance grins. “Really?”

Acxa winks at him. “Only the PG-13 ones,” she says sweetly. She blows a kiss at Keith over her shoulder, laughing when he rolls his eyes at her.

Lance instantly decides that he likes her. And if some of the other...WAGs turn out to be as cool as her, he thinks he might be able to handle more of these events in the future.

He spends the next hour getting to know Keith and Acxa better, and is pleasantly surprised when he finds himself having fun. “I thought you were an idiot at first,” Keith says casually, which raises Lance’s hackles until he remembers Takashi whispering to him earlier that his teammate is rarely malicious, just blunt. “You know, for not guessing who Shiro was for so long.”

Lance huffs and folds his arms. “Well, contrary to popular belief, not everyone in this city cares about hockey to the same extent as you, mullet.”

“Mullet?”

Acxa runs a soothing hand down his back. “He’s got you there, sweetie,” she says brightly. “But it’s okay, I like the way your hair looks.”

“She might be the only one,” Lance whispers to Takashi, who shares a conspiratorial grin with him.

Keith pouts at Acxa but tellingly leans into her touch like he can’t get enough of it. “Somehow, that doesn’t actually make me feel better.”

“Yeah, sorry, Acxa. I’m with Keith on this one. I don’t know if I can trust a person with your tastes if he’s the guy you’ve chosen to spend the rest of your life with,” Matt teases.

Keith throws his hands up in the air in exasperation but Lance catches his lips twitching into the birth of a grin. “Oh, come on! No one told me it was ‘chirp at Keith’ night.”

“But I thought that was every night,” Takashi replies in a far too innocent tone.

Keith wads his napkin up into a ball and tosses it at him from across the table with impressive accuracy, hitting him square in the chest.

Lance almost forgets about the rest of the gala until a stunning woman he instantly recognizes as Allura floats over to their table. Her silver white hair is practically _glowing_ under the dimmed aquamarine blue lights above them.

He shakes her hand nervously when she offers it to him, half-convinced that his touch will taint her in some way. But her grip is warm and firm, and she gives him an easy, welcoming smile when she introduces herself.

“Sorry to interrupt, but I need to borrow the boys for a few minutes,” she tells them. To the ‘boys’, she says, “Come along, you three, it’s time to make friends with some donors.”

“You mean smile and look pretty while you guilt them into giving the foundation even more money,” Keith groans, referring to what Google had informed Lance was the team’s charity organization. “Do I have time to pretend I have food poisoning?”

“Nope,” Allura says cheerfully, pulling him, Takashi, and Matt out of their chairs with surprising ease for a woman of her lithe stature. “We’ll be right back.” She winks at Lance, Acxa, and Pidge.

Takashi smiles wryly at Lance as he’s dragged away. “I’ll see you soon,” he mouths.

After a few minutes, Lance excuses himself to use the bathroom. After asking two servers for directions and getting turned around only once, he finds it in a corner of the lobby. Afterwards, as he makes his way back to the ballroom, he catches someone saying his name and pauses.

“So what do you think of _Lance_?” a woman’s voice asks.

“You mean the twink who’s been hanging off of Shiro’s arm all night?” a familiar voice snorts derisively.

Lance feels something stab his gut as he turns the corner, keeping close to a nearby pillar so he won’t get spotted. He peers out from behind the column and sees the girl who had been standing beside him during the photo op talking with two other women he also recognizes from the shoot. “He’s obviously a gold digger,” the second woman continues matter-of-factly. “I mean, it’s not like he’s got any prospects once he graduates— _if_ he graduates.”

“He’s a student?” asks the third woman. Lance winces at the shriek in her voice, which reminds him of a seagull. “I thought he was a poolboy or something.”

The worst part is she sounds genuinely baffled rather than malicious, like the possibility of someone like Lance being anything else just never occurred to her.

“I Facebooked him. He’s _still_ in undergrad and it says he works at the aquarium, as if that will ever get him anywhere,” the second woman sneers.

“It’s really too bad that Shiro turned out to be gay,” the first woman sighs. “I mean, all that talent, not to mention those good looks, and you’re not even going to pass your genes on? What a waste.”

“ _Lance_ must be a hell of a lay to get Shiro to keep him on,” seagull woman giggles. “Otherwise, I don’t see what else Shiro could possibly see in him.”

“Maybe Shiro is secretly a freak…”

Lance remains rooted to where he’s standing as the women walk back to the ballroom, still laughing at their own jokes. He grasps the front of his shirt, but it doesn’t stop the ache in his chest from spreading all over his body.

He knew— _knew_ that he was going to face judgment when he came here tonight and thought he’d be prepared for it. Hell, he was even starting to have a good time once he met Keith and Acxa, but none of that seems to matter now that he’s once again smacked in the face with the reminder that this world—Takashi’s world is one in which he’ll never belong.

Sure, he seems to have gained some allies in Keith, Acxa, Allura, and Coran, but they’re just four people.

“I’m an idiot,” he hisses to himself. He’s just Lance while Takashi is...so much more than ‘just’ anything. What the hell can he offer Takashi that he can’t get from anyone else inside the ballroom right now?

“There you are.”

Lance raises his head to find Takashi making his way to him, a wry grin on his face and a warm twinkle in his eyes. His smile vanishes when he gets a better look at Lance’s face. “Lance? What’s wrong?”

Lance doesn’t even realize tears are pricking at the corners of his eyes until Takashi cups his cheeks and gently brushes them away with his thumbs. His touch is so, so warm. “I-I’m fine,” Lance answers automatically.

Takashi’s frown deepens. “You’re not. You’re crying.”

Lance pulls away and wipes his jacket sleeve over his eyes. A small part of him whispers that he won’t get his deposit back if he ruins the suit but the rest of him can only hear the words, _“I don’t see what else Shiro could possibly see in him,”_ playing over and over in his head.

“I want to go home,” he says.

To Takashi’s credit, he doesn’t even question it. “Okay, we can get an Uber. Just give me a minute to tell Matt and Pidge and—“

Lance shakes his head and pushes Takashi away. “No, it’s okay. You should stay. I’ll be fine on my own.”

Takashi bites his lip, worry bleeding all over his face. “Lance—“

“I think we should take a break.” Lance almost immediately regrets blurting the words out but, deep down, he knows he can’t take them back.

Takashi freezes, hand halfway back up to Lance’s cheek. “What do you mean?” he asks slowly, fearfully.

“I just...” Lance exhales, squares his shoulders, and straightens his spine to give himself more height. He’s still shorter than Takashi, of course, but he hopes it will communicate just how serious he is. “This whole thing has just been really overwhelming and...I don’t think I belong here.”

“Of course you belong here! Matt certainly thinks so. So do Keith, Allura, Coran—”

“But not the other WAGs,” Lance mutters.

He can see the moment the puzzle pieces click together in Takashi’s head. “Did one of them say something?” he demands, gripping Lance by the shoulders. “Do you know who it was?”

“It doesn’t matter who it is.” Lance forcefully shrugs Takashi’s hands off, deliberately sidestepping his first question. “Look, the playoffs or whatever are coming up, right? I just think it would be best if we took a break, at least until it’s over. I’d just be a distraction if I hung around.” He hugs his arms and turns away.

“But you’re not a distraction,” Takashi pleads. “Can we talk about this?”

Takashi sounds shattered and devastated, and Lance feels thorns in his throat. He hates that he’s the one who put that look on the other man’s face but this is something he has to do. It’s for the best.

“It won’t be forever,” Lance lies. “Just...until after the playoffs, okay?”

He watches as Takashi takes a step forward, hands outstretched, but stops halfway when Lance inches backwards—away from him. It’s the hardest thing Lance has ever done in his life but all he knows in that moment is that he can’t let Takashi get any closer to him. If he does he’ll lose his resolve.

He refuses to be the one to drag Takashi down and ruin him, not when he still has an amazing career ahead of him.

Eventually, Takashi looks away, fists clenched at his sides, and nods. “I...okay.” His voice is so quiet that Lance has to strain his ears to hear him. He’s never heard the other man sound so small and defeated before.

“I’m sorry, Takashi.” _It’s for the best_ , Lance reminds himself, but the words sound hollow to him.

Takashi still calls an Uber for him. He squeezes Lance’s shoulder as he’s getting in. “I love you,” he says quietly, but no less meaningfully than the first time he uttered those words just four months ago.

 _I love you too_ , Lance thinks, swallowing. What he says instead is, “I know.” The last thing he sees before closing the door is the desperation in Takashi’s cloudy grey eyes, layered with unbearable loneliness.

Lance doesn’t really remember the car ride home but the next thing he knows, he’s curled up in his bed, Hunk’s worried voice on the other side of his bedroom door, and tears are streaming down his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...So, who's excited for the finale?


	8. Playoffs (April-May)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The man adjusts his glasses. “Actually, I was hoping to help you. I’m Adam, a friend of Takashi’s.”
> 
> It’s the man’s use of Takashi’s full name, rather than his nickname, that clicks it for Lance. “You’re his ex!” he blurts out, blushing when he realizes what he’s said.
> 
> Adam doesn’t look insulted, though. “So he _did_ tell you about me,” he says pleasantly. He leans in closer to Lance and brings his hand up with the palm facing his cheek. “Between you and me, he’s kind of terrible at opening up, isn’t he?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost there! Sorry for the slightly shorter than usual word count of this chapter but I promise the next one will be much longer. 
> 
> Thank you so much for all the feedback last chapter! I will admit I may or may not have cackled a bit when I posted it but you’ve all been great sports about it and I promise the next chapter _should_ make up for it. Hah, get it, make up?
> 
> Anyway, please enjoy!

Shiro doesn’t know how Adam figured out that something was wrong from just a handful of texts, but he did and that somehow led Shiro to his current predicament: sitting awkwardly in Adam’s living room while his ex bustles around in the kitchen in true house husband fashion.

“You still take sugar with your coffee?” Adam calls out.

“Yeah.”

A few seconds later, Adam appears with their drinks and a plate of cookies. He sets them down on the coffee table and takes the seat opposite of the couch Shiro is in. He folds his hands in his lap and Shiro catches a flash of the gold ring on the fourth finger of his left hand.

“So, are you going to tell me what’s wrong or am I going to have to squeeze the answer out of you?” Adam asks dryly.

 _I think my boyfriend is going to break up with me because he can’t handle my job_ , Shiro thinks. No, he can’t say that. That’s not fair to either Lance or Adam.

He keeps his head down and eyes locked on the dark brown of his coffee.

He wishes he had fought harder to get Lance to change his mind, that he’d asked Acxa or Pidge to keep a better eye out for him that night—anything that would have prevented what had happened.

Because, as he watched the car carrying the man he loves pull away from the hotel that night, he couldn’t help but think that there was something permanent about it. That, despite Lance’s promise, it would be the last time he’d ever see him.

And Shiro is terrified of going back to how he was before he met Lance. Hell, he doesn’t even really _remember_ the man he was before the Lance-shaped hurricane he’s come to adore blazed into his life.

Distantly, he hears Adam let out a heavy sigh. “Would this have anything to do with that boyfriend of yours? You know, the one I had to find out about through _Twitter_ , of all things?”

Shiro flinches and Adam instantly drops the playfulness in his tone. “What happened?”

Shiro exhales shakily and drops his face into his palms. “I think I fucked up, Adam.”

He spends the next few minutes stumbling through an explanation about how he met Lance, how Lance didn’t recognize him, how Shiro kept his real identity a secret like he was some sort of comic book character for months, how Lance eventually found out, and what happened at the gala.

He doesn’t know who Lance had talked to that night or what he heard, but even if he did, there’s nothing he can do about it and he hates how useless that makes him feel.

Damn it, he even promised he’d take care of any problems that might come up and what does he do? Back down at the first sign of trouble because he’s a coward.

By the time he’s finished, his coffee’s gone cold. Adam whistles, “And I thought _we_ had issues.”

Shiro shoots him a glare. “Adam…”

Adam raises his hands, palms out. “Sorry, sorry, that was in poor taste.” He leans back in his seat and gives Shiro a thoughtful look.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now.” Admitting that is like swallowing nails but it’s the truth.

Adam hums. “Honestly? I think you should do nothing and just wait.”

Shiro gives him an incredulous look. “What?”

“You know, like that quote: ‘If you love something, set it free; if it come back, it’s yours; if it doesn’t, it never was.’ Or something like that.”

“And what if he doesn’t come back?” _...like you_ , goes unspoken between them but Shiro knows from the knowing glint in Adam’s copper brown eyes that he heard it.

“Takashi, I didn’t leave because I didn’t love you,” says Adam, his voice firm but soft. “I left because I couldn’t stand being forced into the closet while you established yourself in the NHL. And with the accident...I didn’t know how long that would take.”

The admission still hurts, even after all these years, but it is more of a dull ache—a bruise that has been poked at one too many times—instead of the sharp pain of a knife sliding through his guts.

“How’s this any different? Lance barely had a week to get used to everything before I practically threw him into the deep end with the piranhas,” Shiro growls, more to himself than to Adam.

“He loved you enough to go to that stupid gala with you in the first place,” Adam points out patiently, “which tells me that he wanted to make this work with you. He just got blindsided, that’s all.”

Adam gets up from his seat and takes the spot on Shiro’s right. He squeezes his shoulder and Shiro can’t help instinctively leaning into the comforting weight. “Just give him some time.”

Shiro lets out a frustrated sigh. He’s never been a patient person, so being told to wait is an almost foreign concept to him. But then he remembers the way Lance was looking at him that night, like he didn’t know who Shiro was anymore, and something within him breaks.

Shiro hates that, for the first time in his life, there is nothing he can do to fix the problem in front of him—but he hates that he was the reason for putting that look on Lance’s face more, even if indirectly.

So he’ll wait. Because he loves Lance and if that’s what it takes to get him back, then he’ll do it.

* * *

 **Ina Liefsdottir** ✓ @iliefsdottir · April 22

Matt Holt puts the #Defenders on top at 3-2. It’s official: the team is heading for the second round of the playoffs!

* * *

 **Ina Liefsdottir** ✓ @iliefsdottir · May 7

Looks like penalty killing is imminent with Keith Kogane in the box after [punching Sendak Petrov](http://britomarttis.tumblr.com/post/166108993689/hoody-alan-your-beef-is-mine). It’s still unclear why he did it.

**Ina Liefsdottir** ✓ @iliefsdottir · May 7

Hang on, the refs are reviewing the incident...

**TSN** ✓ @TSN_Sports · May 7

JUST IN: NHL announces that Winnipeg Jets forward Sendak Petrov has been suspended 20 games starting next season for calling Seattle Defenders forward Takashi Shirogane a homophobic slur.

**Ina Liefsdottir** ✓ @iliefsdottir · May 7

And Keith Kogane cinches the game with a narrow 4-3. The #Defenders are going to the Western Conference finals!

**Duke** @limotank · May 8

what a bullshit call! the only reason seattle won was bc sendak was out! and a 20 games suspension?? that’s just fascist

**Chuck** @blondethunder · May 8

Replying to @limotank

uh buddy, he called shiro a slur. sendak should’ve been kicked out of the league entirely imho. #GoDefendersGo

* * *

Lance knows that Hunk and Pidge have been watching the Defenders’ games whenever he’s out of the house even though he told them multiple times that he doesn’t mind if they want to watch them while he’s around. He already had his suspicions but they weren’t confirmed until the night he got back from a late lab to find them cursing at the TV.

He only managed to catch bits and pieces of what had happened as he tried to quietly sneak into his room without being seen—something about Keith punching another player in the face because he said something rude to Takashi? Frankly, after having met the dude, he’s not surprised—but Hunk spotted him just as he reached the landing and immediately shut the TV off. He and Pidge shot him guilty looks but Lance just waved them away.

He’s a human disaster—he _knows_ this about himself—but he doesn’t think he’s _that_ big of a wreck just because he and Takashi are currently on a ‘break’, which everyone and their mothers know is just a stopgap before the inevitable breakup.

Was he being unfair to Takashi? Surprisingly, Veronica was the only one who disagreed with the rest of the family’s sentiment that he had done the right thing. “ _I think you should talk to him before you make any permanent decisions,_ ” she’d told him quietly over FaceTime. But she acknowledged that spending some time apart to get used to the new status quo was probably for the best.

What she, the rest of his family, and his friends don’t know is that Lance is already sure that he’ll never get used to it. It’s not just the women’s hurtful comments, it’s that he knows they’re not the only ones thinking the same thing.

He’s already decided that he won’t be the one who will bring Takashi down. All he has to do now is convince Takashi of that.

“Did you see your boyfriend last night?” one of his coworkers, Nadia “please call me Rizavi, Nadia makes me sound like an old lady” Rizavi, asks. “He played one hell of a game.”

Lance forces himself to smile. _Speak of the devil…_ “Nah, I had to study for an exam.” It’s not a lie but it’s also not the actual reason for why he didn’t watch the game. All he knows is that if the team makes it to the finals, they’ll be up against the Pittsburgh Penguins, which Pidge, Hunk, and the internet assure him is a very strong team.

“That’s a shame. You know you won’t be able to see him play for much longer, right?” says Rizavi, leaning against the register in a way that would have gotten her yelled at if their manager were here to see it.

But it’s a slow evening at the aquarium and their aforementioned manager has taken advantage of the lull to catch up on some paperwork in the office. The entire staff has learned from experience that they’ll pretty much have free reign to do whatever they want as long as they don’t bother him.

Lance normally enjoys this kind of downtime as much as his coworkers but, ever since that _Sun_ article came out, it feels like all they ever want to talk about now is his relationship.

He knows that Rizavi means well but he still has to make an effort not to snap at her that he doesn’t _care_ because it’s not like he’s going to be seeing Takashi anymore after this anyway…

Instead, he shrugs and casually says, “It’s okay. We’ve got all the time in the world anyway.” Then, before Rizavi can respond, he makes an excuse about helping out at the stingray area and promptly makes himself scarce.

As soon as he’s found a corner away from both his coworkers and the guests’ prying eyes, he lets out a heavy sigh and sinks against the wall. It’s one thing to decide that he and Takashi are done, it’s another entirely to actually follow through when there are reminders of him _everywhere_.

And the worst part is he can’t _say_ anything. Because if he does, he knows that whatever he says will inevitably make their way to the nearest tabloid, and then Takashi will have to deal with the media circus all over again on top of the playoffs.

“Excuse me, are you Lance McClain-Serrano?” a man’s voice asks.

Lance pushes down the exasperated groan threatening to bubble up his throat. He pastes his customer service smile on and turns towards the voice. “Yep, that’s me. How can I help—”

He blinks. The man in front of him looks familiar. He’s older than Lance and has a similar skin tone, but his hair is a slightly lighter brown. “—you?”

The man adjusts his glasses. “Actually, I was hoping to help you. I’m Adam, a friend of Takashi’s.”

It’s the man’s use of Takashi’s full name, rather than his nickname, that clicks it for Lance. “You’re his ex!” he blurts out, blushing when he realizes what he’s said.

Adam doesn’t look insulted, though. “So he _did_ tell you about me,” he says pleasantly. He leans in closer to Lance and brings his hand up with the palm facing his cheek. “Between you and me, he’s kind of terrible at opening up, isn’t he?”

“Uh…” Lance gulps. He has no idea how to answer that.

Adam chuckles and takes a step back to give him more breathing room. “Sorry, that was a bit mean.”

Lance shakes his head, dazed by what his life has become. Of all the people he ever expected to meet, Takashi’s ex had been at the bottom of his list ever since he learned about his existence. “Um, was there something you wanted?” he asks timidly.

“Yeah, actually. I want to know if you’re free next week.”

Lance raises his eyebrow. “You know I’m taken, right?” he asks slowly, privately wondering if Takashi’s ex, despite Takashi’s praises, is actually crazier than he looks.

Adam raises his left hand and the ring on his fourth finger flashes under the fluorescent lights of the aquarium. “So am I,” he replies, grinning wryly.

...Okay, _what?_

“But no, what I mean is...how would you like to go to a hockey game with me? I heard you haven’t been to any of Takashi’s games yet.”

_Yet._

“I don’t know anything about hockey,” Lance says automatically. “And—uh, I don’t know if he’ll appreciate having me there.”

“Because of your ‘break’, right?”

Lance blushes but doesn’t respond, which says it all, really. He’s not surprised that Takashi had told his ex, who’s still one of his closest friends, about what happened, but he’s still not comfortable with talking about it.

Adam sighs and places his hands on his hips. “Listen, far be it from me, a total stranger, to tell you how to manage your relationship, but I think you should consider hearing Takashi out before you decide on anything. I know he screwed up big time but—”

“It’s—It’s not that,” Lance mumbles, hugging himself and looking away. “Takashi’s fine. He’s great—more than great, actually. I just don’t see myself being part of this whole...hockey thing,” he finishes lamely, echoing Takashi’s own words.

“Why not? Is it because you’re a man?” Adam asks. He sounds genuinely curious and not mocking at all.

“Well, that and...the fact that I didn’t grow up in that world. Not like you or Takashi did. I don’t know anything about the NHL.” It feels like he’s been thrown into an exam for a language he never learned and doesn’t even have a dictionary to help him out. “I’m just not good enough for him.”

He hasn’t even admitted that particular insecurity to Hunk or Pidge yet. There’s really no reason for him to be sharing this with Adam, who’s virtually a complete stranger, either, except that he’s the only other member of the ‘People who Dated Takashi’ club and the only person in the whole world who might even have an inkling of the storm that’s been roiling within Lance since that disaster of a gala.

“According to whom?” Adam asks, cocking his had to the side. “A couple of jealous WAGs who do nothing but gossip all day? Is that really the standard you want to measure yourself by?”

“I don’t care what they say about me,” Lance defends, “but I care about Takashi and what other people will say about him. He’s worked so hard to get to where he is now and I don’t want him to lose any of that just because of me.”

He jolts when Adam drops a hand on his shoulder, watching him solemnly. “First of all, I think you overestimate how much weight the public’s opinion actually has on an NHL player’s worth. Takashi isn’t going anywhere as long as he continues playing like the adrenaline demon he secretly is.” Lance can’t help but snort at that because that sounds like Takashi alright. “And secondly, I don’t know if you know this, but Takashi is _crazy_ about you. He doesn’t need to be dating someone he can talk hockey with twenty-four-seven, he just wants _you_.”

Even as Lance gives the taller man a skeptical look, he’s helpless against the way his heart jumps to his throat at that declaration. “Really?”

Adam nods. “Look, just come to the finals with me next week. I think it would really help to actually see him in action.”

“But what if they don’t make it to the finals?” Lance asks, remembering Pidge and Hunk’s brief explanation of how the playoffs work.

“Please, it’s _Takashi_. They’ll make it to the finals,” Adam declares so confidently that Lance has no choice but to believe him.

He really shouldn’t go—he knows this.

But at the same time, he _misses_ Takashi so much that it hurts. If nothing else, Takashi deserves an explanation from him before deciding that Lance is probably more trouble than he’s worth.

He nods. “Yeah, okay.”

* * *

 **Ina Liefsdottir** ✓ @iliefsdottir · May 20

Ladies, gentlemen, and everyone in between, the #Defenders top the Golden Knights, 3-1, which means they’re facing the Pittsburgh Penguins in the final!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My friend and I marathoned s8 this morning so I’m still not entirely sure I’m not still in a fever dream.


	9. Playoffs (June)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance looks away and wrings his hands together, nervousness locking his limbs up.
> 
> What should he say? What is he even supposed to say in this kind of situation?
> 
> Takashi seems to make the decision for him because Lance hears him shuffling closer, followed by him quietly whispering, “Lance?”
> 
> It takes a lot more courage than Lance even thought he had in him, but he looks up to meet Takashi’s gaze. Takashi has taken off his helmet, revealing just how sweaty he still is. He has his hair tied back in a small man bun that Lance suddenly aches to run his fingers through.
> 
> He looks just as scared as Lance feels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we've reached the end! Oh gosh, I think this might be the longest thing I've written for any fandom to date.
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading and letting me indulge in this hockey AU. I really appreciated the kudoses and enjoyed reading all your comments. With apologies to Sidney Crosby, I hope you enjoy this final chapter as much as I had fun writing it! ♥
> 
> (Also, just a quick fyi:
> 
> A "hat trick" or "hatty" is a sports term that refers to when a single player scores three goals in a game. In hockey, whenever a player scores a hatty, it’s tradition for the audience to throw their hats onto the rink)

Lance doesn’t know what he expected to be waiting for him at the game, or what he was even _supposed_ to be expecting, but when he arrives at the arena next week, the first thought he gets is: _holy crow_.

It looks even bigger than what Google Maps had shown him and the crowd he, Hunk, and Pidge find themselves in the middle of is also intimidatingly large, with everyone bottlenecked at the intersection. Lance tips his baseball cap lower to hide his face (the irony doesn’t escape him but he tries to ignore it) as they dutifully wait for Adam by the hotdog stand like they planned.

Adam shows up a few minutes later, looking enviously more relaxed than Lance does. After some quick introductions, he turns to Lance with a wink. “Ready for your first hockey game?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.”

“I can’t believe all it took to finally get you to one of these was Shiro,” Pidge snorts, but she looks more amused than offended. “And after I’ve been trying to get you to go for years.”

“To be fair,” Hunk offers diplomatically, “it’s _Shiro_.”

Lance happily lets Adam and Pidge take care of the tickets and direct them to where they need to go through the maze that is the arena. Lance knows that if he had to come here by himself, there is a good chance he would have gotten hopelessly lost.

They end up sitting four rows away from the home net, which gets them a great view of the ice. Hunk’s eyes bug out adorably as they settle into their seats and even Pidge looks impressed. “Dude, I know you’re Shiro’s ex and everything but I really think that we should be friends after this,” says Hunk, giving the man a shit-eating grin. “For reasons that are completely unrelated to these sweet, sweet seats, of course.”

Adam laughs, sounding delighted. “Of course,” he agrees.

Lance tries to participate in his friends’ conversation as they wait for the game to start but he knows he’s quieter than usual. He’s never watched a hockey game, much less attended one, and feels like an intruder. Even though no one seems to have recognized him, he can’t help but feel as if he stands out like a neon sign.

The lights suddenly dim and the entire arena explodes into a wall of noise. Pidge and Hunk join in the cheering, showing a level of enthusiasm that Lance has only ever seen them exhibit when they get sucked into their respective computer and engineering projects.

A man’s voice booms overhead, welcoming the crowd to the game before announcing the team roster. Lance recognizes some of the names from the people Takashi introduced him to at the gala but if someone were to ask him to match the names to the players that are now getting on the ice, he would definitely fail.

“ _And here’s your captain, Takashi Shirogane!_ ”

Lance sucks in a breath as a tall, hulking figure sprints onto the ice to deafening cheers and screams. He can’t see Takashi’s face that clearly; the only indication that it’s even him is the name ‘Shirogane’ emblazoned above the number eighty-five on the back of the man’s jersey. His eyes follow Takashi as he does a few laps around the rink, stopping every so often to chat with a teammate.

This is a completely different side of him that Lance has never seen before and it occurs to him that there is still so much about the man that he knows nothing about.

Just before the game starts, Adam nudges Lance’s shoulder and gives him a knowing look. “Don’t look away,” he tells him.

Lance doesn’t think he can even if he wants to.

Takashi gets into a sort of squat in the middle of the rink with one of the players on the other team mirroring him on the opposite side. A referee takes his spot between them, raises the puck in the air, and drops it, blowing his whistle at the same time.

Lance gasps as Takashi and the rest of the players on the ice burst into action. He loses Takashi almost instantly and it takes him a while to find him again because he’s moving _that fast_.

“Holy crow, I can barely keep track of the puck,” he breathes.

Hunk nods knowingly. “Yeah, it took me a while, too. You’ll get used to it,” he tells Lance confidently.

After a few minutes, Lance eventually falls into the game’s rhythm, cheering and groaning alongside the crowd with every slapshot the Defenders make.

But mostly, he keeps his eyes glued on Takashi. If Takashi were to look this way, would he be able to see Lance? And, given the way Lance had left things between them, would he even _want_ to see him?

“He’s good, isn’t he?” Adam asks quietly.

Lance blows out a breath. “I had no idea…”

“I tried to make him choose between me and all of this, you know,” continues Adam. “Did he tell you about that?”

Lance turns to face him and nods slowly, wondering what he’s getting at.

“Then you know that it wasn’t me he picked.” There is only the faintest hint of bitterness in Adam’s smile but Lance gets the sense that this is something he has long since come to terms with. “Are you going to make him choose as well?”

Lance doesn’t even have to think about his answer. “Of course not!” he exclaims. “I don’t—it’s not the hockey thing that I have a problem with.”

“No, but it’s the scrutiny and the gossip that you _do_ take issue with,” Adam says calmly, cutting right to the heart of it. “You know that Takashi doesn’t care about any of that, right?”

Lance gulps and looks away, which is answer enough.

He hears Adam sigh. “Look, I won’t lie, you’re going to encounter a lot of bigotry if you decide to stay with Takashi. If he ever does badly at a game, you’ll be the first thing fans will point fingers at. And if he does well? They’ll tolerate you, and only barely at that.”

Lance flinches at Adam’s bluntness but there’s no malice in his tone. He’s just stating facts.

“Honestly, I wouldn’t blame you for wanting to stay out of it.”

“I told you, I don’t—”

“You don’t care about all of that as long as it doesn’t affect Takashi, I know.” Adam gestures to the rink. “But what I’m trying to say is, when you look at the way Takashi skates, none of that matters. The media, fans—it’s all just confetti.”

Lance follows his gaze. Takashi looks...so much lighter and _freer_ on the ice. Lance is almost convinced he can see wings on his back with how quickly and gracefully the man is skating. He still can’t really see his face but somehow, he knows that Takashi must be smiling.

“And if you let him, Takashi would love nothing more than to share that with you,” Adam’s voice is distant but Lance detects some fondness in his tone. “In all the years I’ve known Takashi, I’ve never seen him get this shaken up about anything that wasn’t hockey—at least, until you came along.

“So, I’m only going to ask you this once—now that you’ve seen all this, do you want to be with him?”

On the ice, Keith and Takashi suddenly shoot through the blockade in front of the Penguins’ net, like two soldiers on a warpath. They pass the puck back and forth to each other for a couple seconds before Takashi suddenly shoots it into the net. It hits the upper corner, skimming the goalie’s shoulder, and the arena becomes _deafening_.

The Defenders swarm Takashi, patting him on the back and helmet. On the jumbotron, Lance watches as Takashi accepts his teammates’ congratulations with a wide grin. He’s drenched in sweat and is currently sporting a thick messy beard that looks alien on his face (according to Pidge, it’s a weird playoffs tradition), but he has never looked more beautiful to Lance.

He turns back to Adam, decision made. “Yes,” he says, voice firm even against the unrelenting wave of noise all around them. “Of course.” _It’s worth it._ He’s _worth it._

Adam gives him an approving look. _Good answer_ , he doesn’t say, but Lance can hear it anyway.

* * *

The first period ends in a tie (2-2). Pidge and Hunk excuse themselves to buy some snacks and use the bathroom while Adam pulls Lance out of his seat. “Where are we going?” Lance asks nervously as they join the line of people leaving their seats.

“To see someone special,” is Adam’s cryptic response.

Lance gulps, suddenly feeling sweat run down the back of his neck despite the cold temperature. He hasn’t seen Takashi in more than a month now and a lot can happen in that time. Would Takashi even want to get back together?

Wildly, he considers the terrible possibility that Takashi has found someone else, someone who might be better suited to this whole lifestyle than he is.

He doesn’t get the chance to think too much on that, though, because Adam somehow gets them through a door labelled ‘VIP’ in bold font, past a security guard who nods at Adam like he’s been expecting him.

“First, you get us seats almost right behind the net and now you’ve got VIP access? Just what kind of connections do you have?” Lance asks jokingly.

Adam laughs, “Perks of being good friends with the captain of the team.”

They turn a corner into a hallway, just in time to see the team making their way down the corridor perpendicular to them, with reporters trailing hungrily behind them. Lance’s eyes widen; up close, the players look like _giants_. He knows they’re wearing padding and their skates must give them a couple extra inches of height, but it’s still an intimidating sight.

“Oi! Shirogane!” Adam suddenly calls out, waving his arm.

Takashi stops and turns to them, along with several curious reporters.

At first, he doesn’t seem to recognize them, but his eyes widen when they meet Lance’s. “Lance? Adam?” he calls back. “What are you doing here?” He shuffles towards them, seemingly oblivious or uncaring of the reporters now tracking his every step like vultures.

Adam smirks and gestures to Lance, taking a deliberate step back. “ _I’m_ doing you a solid since you’re inadvertently the reason I was able to meet the love of my life.” He pats Lance on the shoulder and, in a quieter voice, adds, “And your loverboy here wants to talk.”

Takashi’s cheeks turn into a peachy pink colour. “You—You do?” he asks, voice heartbreakingly hopeful.

Lance feels his cheeks grow warm and he nods. “Y-Yeah. Is that okay?”

“Shiro? What are you doing? You’re supposed to be doing media right now.”

The three of them turn to see Coran and Keith heading their way, both of them looking confused. Understanding flashes in Keith’s face when he catches sight of Lance and he stops Coran with a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, I can handle it,” he says.

Coran whips his head around and raises his eyebrow. “ _You?_ Volunteering to do media? But you hate it!”

Keith lets out a long-suffering sigh and shoots Takashi a Look that Lance recognizes from the ones Hunk occasionally aims at him whenever he gets roped into one of Lance’s harebrained schemes. “I know,” he grunts. He doesn’t elaborate any further and pulls Coran behind him towards the small crowd of waiting reporters.

Once they’re out of sight, Adam clears his throat and starts walking backwards towards the exit. “Welp, I better get back to our seats in case someone tries to steal them. Lance, you good on how to get back? Okay, see you in a bit. And good luck!” And then he’s gone before either Lance or Takashi can say anything.

Although Lance can still hear the sounds of people talking nearby, the sudden silence that has descended upon them is—to use the cliche term—deafening. Lance looks away, takes off his cap, and wrings his hands together, nervousness locking his limbs up.

What should he say? What is he even _supposed_ to say in this kind of situation?

Takashi seems to make the decision for him because Lance hears him shuffling closer, followed by him quietly whispering, “Lance?”

It takes a lot more courage than Lance even thought he had in him, but he looks up to meet Takashi’s gaze. Takashi has taken off his helmet, revealing just how sweaty he still is. He has his hair tied back in a small man bun that Lance suddenly aches to run his fingers through.

He looks just as scared as Lance feels. “I’m sorry,” he blurts out.

_What?_

“What?” Lance asks flatly. That...was _not_ what he expected.

“I don’t know what you heard at the gala but whatever it is, I can tell you that it’s not true.” Takashi takes another step, which takes some awkward maneuvering with his skates, stick, and bulky padding. Privately, Lance thinks that the sight would be adorable and a lot funnier if the situation weren’t so serious. “I shouldn’t have lied to you about my job and I know now that I should have prepared you better before taking you to the gala, and I’ll respect it if you want to end things, but…” he gulps and squares his shoulders, looking like a knight in shining armour about to go to war.

Well, more like a knight in a dirty jersey.

“...but I’d like to try again, if you’ll let me.” Takashi bites his lip but his eyes never move away from Lance. He’s still looking at him like Lance is all he has left in the world.

“Why me?” Lance asks, staring at Takashi in disbelief. “I mean, why not someone else who actually _knows_ something about hockey?”

Now it’s Takashi’s turn to stare at Lance in disbelief. “Lance, I don’t need someone like that. I’ve been surrounded by this sport pretty much every day of my life since I was a kid. And while I love it, I don’t need it to be part of what we have.” He takes another step forward so there’s only about a foot of space between them now.

“I love you, Lance,” Takashi says. The admission comes out quietly but there is something like a storm in his voice, strong and wild. “And I want you because you’re _you_. I know I might not have the right to ask that anymore but—”

Oh hell.

Lance can almost feel the last of his reticence fall away like melted snow as he lunges at Takashi. He grabs a fistful of his jersey and pulls him down for a kiss, sweat, musk, and beard and all.

He’s usually good with words—great, even, but right now, he can’t seem to think of any that would best encapsulate everything he feels. Instead, he tries to pour as much of his apology, fears, love— _everything_ into the kiss. He knows, now, that he has no choice but to be with Takashi all the way. And it’s a choice he would make a thousand times over.

He can feel Takashi also yielding into the kiss. One of his gloved hands comes up to rest on Lance’s back, pushing him closer towards his body.

A loud and very pointed cough pulls them apart, but Lance keeps his grip on Takashi’s jersey and Takashi’s hand remains on the small of Lance’s back. They find Matt Holt grinning at them like a fox that just stumbled upon an unguarded chicken coop. “As much as I hate to interrupt this incredibly heartfelt moment, we do kind of have a game to get back to, Shiro. Or have you forgotten about a little something called the _Stanley Cup_? You know, that big ass silver grail that I intend to drink alcohol out of at least once before I die?”

Lance sputters, “Wait, you drink _alcohol_ out of that thing?”

“If we win, then yeah.” Takashi nods at Matt. “Okay, just give me a minute.” Once the other man is out of sight, he turns back to Lance. “So, are we okay?”

Lance nods and squeezes his arm. “Yeah, we’re good. I mean, we should probably talk after all this, but—we’re better than good.”

And he means it.

* * *

Shiro shares one last brief kiss with Lance before hurrying to the locker room, feeling like his head is full of cotton candy.

News of his ‘rendezvous’ with Lance have clearly already made the rounds through the team, because he endures some chirping when he arrives, but he’s too happy to care. Lance took him back and that’s all that matters.

Well, that and the Cup.

Kolivan and Allura briefly drop by to give them their versions of a pep talk, which are, “Go out there and give them hell,” and “ _Don’t_ fuck it up,” respectively.

Keith forces a round of smelling salts on Shiro just before they get back onto the ice, which helps him get his head back in the game, but not enough to keep them from ending the second period with a disappointing 3-5.

He can’t believe there’s only one more period and three points standing in the way between his team and the Cup. They’re so close he can almost _feel_ the Cup’s cold metal in his hands.

He casts a glance in the direction of where Lance told him he’s sitting. He can’t really see him but he knows, as sure as water is wet, that Lance is watching him.

The thought stays with him through the brief interview he gets subjected to in the final intermission. Eventually, the reporter asks, “Do you have anything else to add?”

 _I love Lance and I’m going to marry him one day_ , is the first answer that comes to his mind.

He doesn’t say it out loud but the thought bolsters him and he says, briefly forgetting about the millions of people watching the game right now, “I’m going to get a hat trick for my boyfriend.”

The reporter’s eyebrows nearly fly to his hairline.

“Could you repeat that?” the man asks faintly. He holds his microphone up higher.

Now that he’s said it, Shiro suddenly wants nothing more than to do just that. “I’m going to win this game and score a hat trick for my boyfriend,” Shiro repeats, more confidently this time.

He has never seen a reporter flounder this much before. “Well—uh, I wish you the best of luck,” he says, still sounding a little shaken. Shiro can’t blame him, though. He’s done media for ten years, after all. There is always, _always_ a script that every player and sports journalist stick to. What he did just now isn’t so much ‘going off script’ as it is ‘striking a match and setting a house made entirely of paper on fire’.

But he can’t bring himself to care.

When he makes it back to the locker room, the room is completely silent and everyone is staring at him like he—well, like he just announced he’s going to do something incredibly foolhardy on live television at what is perhaps the most crucial moment of their careers to date.

“I don’t know if I want to strangle that boyfriend of yours or kiss him,” says Keith, breaking the silence.

Shiro shoots him an adominishing glare. “Leave him out of it. It was my choice.”

“You just said you’re going to win the game for your _boyfriend_ ,” James points out. “If we pull this off, I’ll give him a damn kiss myself. _With tongue._ ”

Shiro narrows his eyes and points at him. “Stay away from Lance,” he warns, only half-jokingly.

Keith rolls his eyes as he finishes tightening his laces. “Yeah, let’s get a hatty _and_ a game-winning goal with only twenty minutes to go,” he snorts. “Because it’s not like it’s _hard_ or anything, oh no.”

Shiro concedes with a sheepish grin. “Hey, I’m the one who brought it up, so it’ll be my responsibility, not yours.”

Across the room, Ulaz snorts, “Please, Shiro, we’re a team. I’m insulted that you’d even consider the possibility that we won’t give you the support that you need.”

Shiro truly does love his team sometimes. “Really?”

Keith knocks his shoulder against his. “Of course.” He grins, wolf-like, and Shiro remembers the way he didn’t hesitate to sucker-punch Sendak, a man who is nearly three times his size, just for calling Shiro a slur. “Now let’s go kick those birds and their over-inflated egos in the ass.”

* * *

Shiro doesn’t know how but someone must have figured out that Lance is in the arena because, when the team steps back out onto the ice, a very red-faced Lance is featured on the jumbotron while Shiro’s interview is being replayed in a smaller screen in the bottom corner. Pidge and Hunk look like they’re alternating between patting him soothingly on the back and trying very hard not to laugh. Adam, however, seems to have given up on the concept of decorum entirely because he’s leaning back in his seat and snacking on a bag of popcorn with a very amused grin on his face.

“Nothing is ever easy when it comes to you, is it?” Kolivan sighs, sounding resigned.

“You know what the Great One once said, ‘it’s easier to lose than to win.’” Shiro smiles. “You’ve been my coach for three years. If you haven’t figured this out about me by now, then I don’t know what to tell you.”

Kolivan simply snorts in response before turning to bark at the rest of the team, “Alright, listen up, everyone. I know you’re tired and we still have a long way to go, but if there’s any fuel left in those carcasses of yours, now is the time to dig deep and give it all you’ve got.”

None of them cheer, but it’s more out of the need to save their energy than anything else.

Shiro takes his place across from Sidney Crosby, who gives him a considering look. “Cute, but you know I’m still not going to let you win, right?” he says dryly.

“I don’t need you to ‘let’ me do anything,” Shiro retorts pleasantly. “But I’ll be disappointed if you went down without at least giving us a challenge.”

“Hah! We’ll give you one, alright.”

The ref skates over to them with the puck in hand. After glancing at the two of them, he blows his whistle and drops the puck. In that moment, Shiro clears his mind and focuses on only one thing—the game.

He lets muscle memory overtake his body. Yes, he’s exhausted and his limbs feel like they’re about to fall off, but he can’t stop now. The Cup is _right there_ and he will never forgive himself if he lets it slip away from him for the second time.

Regris gets a goal a few minutes later, eliciting thunderous applause as their score goes up 4-5. Less than a minute later, with Matt and Keith as his support, Shiro gets his second goal of the night, which ties it up. _Two down, one more to go._

He glances up at the jumbotron as he makes his way back to the bench at the end of his shift, which is currently showing the suite in which Allura and Coran are watching the game. He huffs out a laugh when Allura, in an extremely rare display of affection, embraces Coran in a tight hug and even manages to _lift_ the taller man into the air.

The camera then switches to where Lance and the others are sitting.

Well, maybe ‘sitting’ isn’t the right word. The four of them are now on their feet, screaming and cheering with complete abandon. Shiro has never seen Lance look this wild before. His hair is a mess—it looks like Lance has been running his fingers through it all night.

But to Shiro, he looks perfect.

“Hey,” Matt calls out, nudging his arm. “The game’s not over yet.”

It takes an incredible amount of effort for Shiro to drag his eyes away from the jumbotron (from _Lance_ ). “I know,” he says.

From his other side, Keith says, “We’ve got your back. Just focus on getting that last goal.”

It’s easier said than done. The Penguins score another goal before the next line change, putting them ahead once again at 5-6.

Thace, of all people, gets a hooking penalty a few minutes later, and the following two minutes are easily the most stressful two minutes Shiro has ever experienced in his life. Somehow, they manage to hold on, and they all breathe a little easier as soon as Thace is out of the box.

Shiro starts getting desperate as the minutes tick down to the single digits. At this point, he no longer cares about the GWG—he _needs_ to get that hatty. It’s not just about the Cup anymore, it’s about _Lance_.

Lance, who, after everything that’s happened, _chose_ him.

Lance, who didn’t see Shiro the Defender on the day they met at the gym, but Shiro—just Shiro. No bells or whistles or strings attached.

It had been a long time since someone saw Shiro for who he was and not _what_ he was, and he’d be damned if he doesn’t do everything he can to prove that Lance’s affection isn’t misplaced.

Somehow, miraculously, Antok edges a goal with a minute left on the clock. Shiro knows from experience that a lot can happen in a minute, but it’s far more likely that they’re heading into overtime.

He’s proven right when the buzzer reverberates through the arena. The crowd screams back, very nearly overpowering the sound.

They make a ring around Kolivan, making sure to block him from the Penguins’ view. Once they’ve all settled in, he grunts, “I want to try something.”

There isn’t a single Defender who doesn’t have his eyebrow raised by the time their coach has finished explaining his idea but no one objects. Even Shiro, who is arguably the most open-minded of them all, hesitates.

“I know it’s risky as hell,” says Kolivan. “But we can’t afford to play it safe. All it takes is one goal. Do you think you can do it?”

As one, the team turns to Shiro. He swallows but nods. “Yeah, okay. Let’s do it.”

Shiro gets back onto the ice, with Keith and Matt flanking him, and James and Ryan at their backs.

Crosby meets him at the center once again, looking smug. “You played a good game,” he says, but Shiro takes vindictive pleasure in the fact that the other man sounds just as winded as he feels. “But this is the end of the line.”

 _Yeah, but not for us_ , Shiro thinks. Hopes.

The puck drops and Shiro, as Kolivan instructed, lets Crosby win the faceoff.

He’s careful to stay by the boards as Keith, Matt, and Ryan bombard the Penguins’ offense, trying to keep the puck from reaching the blue line. It’s gruelling and Shiro can hear everyone’s skates scraping harshly on the ice. _It’ll be over soon_ , he thinks confidently.

He glances in Lance’s direction. He still can’t see the other man but knows that Lance is watching him.

Suddenly, Keith and Matt steal the puck and break through the Penguins’ offense, speeding towards their net like bullets.

Shiro waits.

Ryan and James join them a few seconds later, checking as many Penguins as they can on their way.

Finally, _finally_ , Shiro sees the opening he needs.

He locks eyes with Keith across the ice and nods. Keith nods in return and pulls his stick back, getting ready for his signature wrist shot.

The Penguins’ defensemen start skating rapidly back towards the net while their offense picks up speed, moving to intercept the puck. Keith brings his stick back down—

—and shoots the puck straight at Shiro.

Shiro doesn’t let himself think. He simply lets his body move and shoots the puck into the opening the Penguins have left themselves with.

The puck makes a beautiful ‘clang!’ as it bounces off the post and straight into the net, just beneath Matt Murray’s elbow.

The arena erupts into total bedlam. Shiro only has half a second to breathe before getting tackled onto the ice by Matt, closely followed by Keith, then James and Ryan, and eventually by the rest of the team. Kolivan, Allura, and Coran are next; Kolivan, for the first time in the three years Shiro has known him, is finally smiling. All around them, hats are raining down on the ice and it’s one of the most beautiful things he’s ever seen.

Shiro goes through the motions of holding up the Cup (it feels just as heavy and wonderful as he’s always dreamed it would be), kissing it, and passing it along to his teammates, but it feels more like a dream—something he’s watching happen to his body rather than himself.

He obediently lets Allura and Coran manhandle him into the photo op that follows but barely takes notice of his surroundings. All he can hear in his head is the mantra, _We won, we won, we_ won, playing over and over in his head like the sweetest song.

 _Well_ , he thinks, glancing at where Lance’s seat is, _maybe not_ the _sweetest._

Eventually, after what feels like hours of talking to the media, they get herded into the locker room.

Somewhere behind him, Shiro hears James murmur in a dazed voice, “Jesus, I can’t believe we just won the _Stanley Cup_.”

Vrek lets out a deep laugh that sounds like it’s coming straight from his belly. “Well, you better believe it, kid. Third time’s the fucking charm, eh?”

There is a knock at the door and Coran opens it.

Shiro barely registers the brown hair before he suddenly finds himself with an armful of Lance. “Lance! I—”

Lance cuts him off with a deep kiss, both of his hands gripping the front of his jersey like a lifeline. Distantly, Shiro can hear his teammates catcall and wolf whistle at him, but he doesn’t care because he just got to _hold the Stanley Cup in his hands_ and _Lance is here._

Lance pulls away first, wrinkles his nose, and says, “You’re lucky I love you because you _reek_ right now.”

Shiro laughs and kisses him on the head, burying his nose in Lance’s hair and the scent of _home_.

He _is_ lucky, he knows this, and it’s something that he’ll never forget.

* * *

Four months after the playoffs, Lance is regretting every single decision he’s made in the past year that’s led him to this moment: hanging onto the boards of the Highland Ice Arena for dear life while his brand new skates seem determined to trip and make a fool out of him.

“‘Let’s go skating,’ he says. ‘It’ll be fun,’ he says,” he mutters under his breath as he tries to get his feet to _cooperate, damn it_. “‘Oh no, this won’t end with you stabbing yourself on these overpriced knife shoes _at all_ ,’ he says.”

A soft, bell-like laugh drifts towards him. He looks up just in time to see Takashi come to a clean stop in front of him, sending bits of ice flying up between their feet. He’s got both hands in his pockets, as if things like balance and gravity are nothing more than jokes to him, the showoff.

But his smile is so sweet and fond that Lance briefly contemplates letting go of the boards just so he can kiss his boyfriend. Sure, he’ll probably end up face-planting on the ice, but it’ll be worth it.

Okay, maybe he doesn’t actually regret _everything_.

“I’m pretty sure I don’t sound like that but okay,” Takashi says, eyes twinkling. “Having some trouble there?”

“I spent the first eighteen years of my life on a beach,” Lance whines, “what do _you_ think?”

Takashi chuckles, a deep throaty sound that never fails to make something within Lance’s chest grow warm. “Want some help?” he asks, offering his hand.

“No thanks, I was just planning on staying here for the rest of my life,” Lance scoffs, even as he’s already reaching for Takashi’s hand and allowing himself to be tugged away from the boards. Takashi grabs his other hand and starts skating backwards while effortlessly supporting Lance’s weight at the same time.

After seeing him in the playoffs, Lance isn’t entirely convinced that the older man didn’t hatch out of the ice of Lake Washington or something like that. He says that out loud and Takashi winks at him. “I can neither confirm or deny that,” he says breezily.

He patiently directs where Lance’s feet should go and even cheers without a hint of patronization in his voice when Lance finally manages to stand upright all by himself. His eyes are fixed on Lance the whole time, as if the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

“Is there something on my face?” Lance asks as he begins to tentatively skate towards him, concentrating on making an ‘L’ shape with his skates like Takashi taught him.

“No, why?”

“Because you’re staring at me.”

Takashi smirks at him and his gaze pointedly sweeps down Lance’s body in a way that never fails to make Lance’s knees weak, which is really not helpful at the moment. “You’re wearing my jersey,” he says, sounding impossibly pleased.

Lance blushes and tugs at the aforementioned jersey with one hand as he remembers the first time he wore it.

It was the morning after they moved into their brand new apartment a couple months ago. Aside from the boxers he slept in the night before and the outfit he wore the previous day, all of Lance’s clothes were still in his suitcases and he had no desire to search through them before he had some caffeine in his body. So he went through Takashi’s closet, because Takashi had actually taken the time to unpack his clothes like the responsible adult he was, and threw on the first thing he saw, which turned out to be Takashi’s spare jersey.

He only realized that fact after he walked into the kitchen and was instantly pinned to the counter with Takashi mouthing at his neck and his half-hard cock pressing against his thighs, which the hem of his jersey barely covered. They had quickly christened the kitchen right then and there.

Then the living room couch.

And then, several hours after they had finished unpacking, their actual bed.

“Pervert,” Lance murmurs, but he’s grinning.

Takashi entwines their fingers together. “Yeah, but I’m _your_ pervert,” he teases.

They skate around the rink a few times, but at a much slower speed than what Takashi is probably used to. He doesn’t seem to mind, though, appearing far more content to let Lance set the pace. Lance squeezes his hand and simply smiles when Takashi glances down at him curiously.

At one point, two wide-eyed kids wearing Defenders jerseys, a boy and a girl, toddle over to them with their parents trailing behind them. “Um, excuse me,” the little girl squeaks, “are you Shiro?”

After making sure that Lance is steady enough, Takashi lets go and bends down so he’s at eye level with them, a warm smile on his face. “I am, and what’s your name?”

They shyly introduce themselves with their parents’ help—the adults looking just as hilariously awestruck as their kids—and go through the usual process of congratulating Takashi over the playoffs and wishing him luck in the upcoming season. Takashi happily signs their jerseys with the marker he’s taken to carrying with him everywhere for moments just like this, and Lance could swear he can see the kids’ souls ascend. It’s ridiculously adorable, and reminds him of Sylvio and Nadia.

The family thanks Takashi for his time before going back to their own skate. Lance grins when Takashi returns to his side. “Cute fans,” he comments.

“Not as cute as you,” Takashi replies sweetly.

Lance blushes for the second time that hour. “Sap,” he murmurs, elbowing Takashi in the side. Well, he _tries_ to anyway, but nearly loses his balance in the process. It’s only Takashi’s quick reflexes that save him from plummeting to the ice.

“It’s the truth!” Takashi laughs, righting him with one hand on his elbow and the other on his waist. “You alright there?”

Lance looks up into Takashi’s misty grey eyes, into the warmth and love within them, and thinks, _I’ve never been better._

Okay, things are far from perfect but Lance is pretty sure that’s just normal for any halfway functional couple. He’s not looking forward to only being able to see Takashi once every few days for the next seven to nine months, but he loves seeing Takashi so passionate about the sport and he loves Takashi even more, so he knows that they can get through this.

He doesn’t tell Takashi any of this because it’s something they’ve already talked about at length, but instead says, “I love you.”

It’s Takashi’s turn to blush and Lance mentally punches the air. “Love you too,” he says quietly, like the words belong to Lance and Lance alone. “What brought this on?”

Lance shrugs. “It’s just the truth,” he says, parroting Takashi’s words back to him.

And it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you so much for getting through this fic with me! ♥ ♥

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are much appreciated! <3
> 
> Please also feel free to yell at me about Voltron, hockey, or anything else at my [Tumblr](http://britomarttis.tumblr.com) and/or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/britomarttis)!


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